


Overruled

by foreverdistracted



Series: Maybe I Can Talk You Down [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: hobbit_kink, Drama, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Lawyers, Legal Drama, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverdistracted/pseuds/foreverdistracted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working at McKellen-Weaving meant constantly toeing the gray lines. Lee was perfectly fine with that. Lee was perfectly fine with a lot of things, actually - including vying for the attentions of a man who didn't need further complications in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> * Also written for my (enabling) friend, and for the OP of this lovely prompt in The Hobbit RPF Kink Meme ( http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=14882540#t14882540 )  
> * This was partly inspired by St_Germaine's gorgeous fics A Gentle Man (and its fantastic sequel, An Offer and A Promise). Go read those. Now. I'll wait.  
> * I may have watched too many lawyer shows recently. I apologize about the flagrant bastardization of the legal process.  
> * My beta deserves a hundred tubs of chocolate ice cream carried by horse-sized ducks with Richard leading the charge, for turning this mess of a fic into something remotely readable, for being amazing, and for holding my hand. So sorry for all the fuss!

Friday afternoons meant the courthouse was buzzing with last minute activities before the weekends. Lee himself still had a late meeting with their new client - accused of murder, his first big one since Ian had started feeding him more serious cases without close guidance. He'd spent enough time in Ian's shadow to know the ropes, even enough time in it to know that once the prosecutor's office got wind that he'd be handling the case (not _Lee_ specifically, but someone from the McKellen-Weaving firm), he'd be pitted against one of Ms. Blanchett's hand-picked elite again. Not that he minded too much. It was a one-in-three shot of working across from the one man he loved to spar words with. 

_Dean had better be available._ It had been months since he'd enjoyed the services of a professional investigator. No thanks to Ian and his hogging all of Dean's office hours, then granting the young man a break because he'd been run ragged and _"for Christ's sake Lee, you're an officer of the court, go out and do your own goddamn digging once in a while."_

The results had been astoundingly horrific. At least Ian had been forced to help clean up the mess.

Client meeting was still an hour later. Right now, however, as packed and busy as the hallway was, Lee's attention kept veering towards the frowning man leaning gingerly against the wall.

Richard was wearing a glare that Lee recognized all too well, having seen it numerous times in court, though very rarely outside of it. He liked to think of it as the "Armitage warning system," since it often meant that Richard was following a mental script of events - reminiscent of how his dad would look before he'd tell Lee, "You sure you want to put your bishop there? You'll be dead in four moves." It meant he was playing into a trap that Richard had set up long before Lee even had a clue, and if he didn't catch on fast, he was going to lose the case.

Lee felt a little insulted that the same glare was being directed at an innocuous little smartphone.

The device made a sound that he recognized as meaning "ERROR." (He supposed its quick series of repetitions meant "OH MY GOD, ERRORED SO MUCH.") Richard's right palm left its surface, hovering five inches above as if to say, "What the fuck did I just press?"

 _Nice hands,_ Lee thought, and mentally slapped himself, because _inappropriate_ , goshdarnit, how _dare_ you sir, for shame, etc. He had to remind himself that Richard was hands off. Ian said so. Graham said so. Even his own mother said so. Too much baggage, too out of your league, too male (respectively).

 _"Too prosecutor,"_ Ian had elaborated after, with a look that served as both instruction and warning.

He wanted nothing more than to go over there and demonstrate whatever it was Richard was having trouble with. The other man was the endless butt of jokes in their law firm regarding his lack of Internet know-how, and while Lee thought it was adorable as hell, Richard looked like he was getting really close to being genuinely distressed.

The last time he'd approached Richard just to chat, though...

He surreptitiously searched the premises for the tall, bald investigator that was always just an arm's reach away whenever Richard was around. Currently, said man was still in the emptying courtroom, talking to that middle-aged police officer who always hated being called to testify. And hated Lee even more, simply on principle.

The phone made another noise. Richard looked suspiciously like he wanted to cry.

Lee's resolve melted faster than butter on a hot skillet. "Need help?" he asked. (So maybe that came out a little too eager, judging from the way Richard drew back a bit.)

" _Yes_ , please." Richard couldn't have handed his phone over faster if it had been on fire. "I don't know what it's doing, and it's very important that I send a message right now."

Lee decided he quite liked Richard's deep voice sounding a little bit desperate and close to his left ear. The other man stood peering over Lee's shoulder while he sorted through the mess he'd made of his phone's UI. "You have a thousand things open." He closed browser windows, notes, a list of outgoing calls... _okay_ , he might have just seen Richard's sources' phone numbers. He cleared his throat and quickly swiped it closed before the other man could think twice about handing his phone to a defense attorney. 

The list of apps blessedly appeared. "What do you need? SMS?"

"No, Aidan will be up in the air now. I need to twitter him something-"

"Tweet."

"...tweet him something." Lee grinned. At the edge of his vision, he could see the tip of Richard's ear slowly getting redder. "He checks his twitter every minute, but God forbid he should check his e-mail more than once a day."

"Kids today, right?" Lee hit up "Compose." When he looked up, Richard was giving him a fond, exasperated look. "What?"

"You can't pretend that you're even _remotely_ part of my generation, Mr. Pace."

"You're never going to call me 'Lee,' are you?" He handed over the phone and watched as Richard hurriedly typed a message (or tried to - Lee could tell when the erase key was being pressed). "We're just eight years apart. You make it sound like a century."

"You were eight when I was sixteen, if you need a little perspective," Richard muttered without looking up from his task.

"And I'll be forty when you turn forty-eight. Doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" That look of distress was starting to creep back into his expression. "What's wrong?"

"I need to look up his username, but I'm afraid that if I leave this screen, this message will vanish."

Not even a single, reluctant twitch when Lee gestured for his phone. "You haven't even memorized his username yet?"

Richard returned to his former position behind Lee's left shoulder. "I don't...I just look for his picture in the thing - yes, that."

"The thing" was the list of people following him on Twitter. All six of them. Richard murmured, "second from the top," which read "TooFawknIrish1983" and displayed the tiny portrait of a rather handsome, dark-haired young man.

Not as young as Lee thought. He was hoping maybe twelve or something. "Relative of yours?"

"No. Well, I guess. Adoptive nephew, if there is such a thing." Lee returned to the saved draft and began typing in the username while he listened. "Jimmy's older sister's kid. Apparently, that means he gets to call me uncle and I get to give him gifts on his birthday."

And just like that, Lee was at a loss on how to respond. "Jimmy" was "James Nesbitt," the outspoken Irish politician and Vice President of the HRC, now married with a bouncing baby girl on the way. How Richard could just bring him up in normal conversation, smoothly and without hesitation, was beyond Lee. As if the aforementioned man hadn't broken his heart on public television two years ago. 

Well...no, that wasn't entirely fair. Lee had been there, after all - sitting as co-counsel to Ian and watching with rapt attention (much like future road kill in the face of oncoming traffic) as Richard had obliterated their defense with a last-minute confession from their star witness. It hadn't been directly Nesbitt's fault that there had been media people outside, just waiting for the court session to end. He'd been caught in the media blitz on his own turf in Ireland, and he hadn't meant for Richard to get swept up in the same frenzy (or so he claimed, later). Or for Richard to find out about his infidelity that way. Or for Richard to lack even the privacy to have a proper breakdown because he'd gotten stuck in an acquaintance's car afterwards.

Actually, screw all that. It had been entirely Nesbitt's fault.

He was saved from toppling into an awkward silence by Graham's stocky presence looming over the two of them. A trick Lee had always been envious of, and which Graham really shouldn't be able to do considering Lee had an inch over the man. 

But loom he did, and if looks could kill, Lee would be six feet under right about now.

 _Talk about holding grudges._ Richard stepped past him and spoke quietly with the investigator out of his hearing range. It wasn't that Graham was a bad sort, Lee charitably thought, but honestly, the way the man clung to that one, unfortunate time when Lee had managed to beat him to some damning evidence (not so damning anymore by the time Lee had been done with it) was bordering on unprofessional behavior. And what would State's Attorney Catherine Blanchett think about _that_?

More importantly, however, Graham was practically draconian about never leaving Richard alone with him for more than a few minutes. That might sound paranoid, but it really wasn't. Him, _Lee_ , specifically. Graham had absolutely no issue with leaving Richard alone with Ian or anyone else from their firm. 

Whatever Richard and Graham were discussing, they seemed pretty involved. It took a good four or five minutes before Richard turned back to him with an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry. We have to get going."

"Richard." Graham looked aggrieved, and sounded like he was trying very hard for patience (and missing by a mile or two). "Your phone?"

Lee pretended he hadn't just been scrolling shamelessly through his playlists ( _quite a few eye-opening song selections there, Mr. Armitage_ ) and surrendered the device back to its owner. With a standard-issue, McKellen-approved guileless smile, of course. "Tweet sent. I also added a shortcut on your home screen so you can send a message directly to your nephew next time."

"Oh." Richard's smile was both grateful and sheepish. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

 

He wasn't quite sure what to make of Mr. Freeman, except for the fact that he wasn't going anywhere near the stand if Lee could help it. The man had a vocabulary on him that would make sailors blush, and the damage it could do to twelve jury members was best left to the imagination. At first glance, he seemed normal and diffident - nice, even. Homely for a man in his early 40's, with his mousey brown hair, boyish face, and tan pullover on a simple white shirt. 

"No, I don't care if you're my bloody lawyer! I'm tired, I've been doing nothing but repeating the same shit for the past three hours, and I'm not going to talk anymore until I can fucking call my wife again. Or do I have to find out whose bent dick I need to blow first before I can let my kids know that daddy's bloody okay?"

Lee only just managed to stifle his initial response, which involved letting Mr. Freeman know that as an incredibly gay man, Lee was hard-pressed to recall any sort of dick, bent or otherwise, that would approach a mouth like that of its own volition. 

It was a close thing. Lee was tired, too. 

He'd tried to go over the details quickly after that - he wasn't up to being verbally abused at the moment, regardless of how much Ian was paying him. (Not enough.) 

No, he had to make the delivery himself because his assistant called in sick. 

Yes, Ms. Lily had a small catering business and needed high grade, gluten-free flour regularly. Sometimes his assistant delivered it, sometimes he did personally.

No, he hadn't known there was a murder, how bloody stupid did Lee think he was?

His fingerprints were on the murder weapon because he'd tried to yank it _out_ , though he now wished he hadn't and just left the bugger to die. Not that it made much difference, he died anyway.

No, Ms. Lily arrived and screamed while he was trying to remember how to count heart pumps - is it one-one hundred, or one-one thousand...? Oh, one-one thousand? You fucker, you don't know either. They breed know-it-alls like you at Yale Cuntversity?

"What about the affair?" Lee asked, eyes closed and fingers massaging his forehead. When no reply was forthcoming, he looked up and was met with a slack, confused expression, and eyebrows furrowed so precisely, they almost formed a line. "You can't just avoid talking about it."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"The one you were having with Ms. Lily."

" _Me_? And Evangeline Lily?!" At Lee's nod, he choked, sputtered, his eyes grew wide, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. 

"...Are you saying there was never an affair?"

Lee was almost grateful for the foul language earlier, because it somewhat prepped him for the deluge of filth wrapped around his client's indignant response.

Later, Ian rang him up just as he'd gotten into his car. "Messy," Lee answered, when he was asked how things were with Mr. Freeman.

"That's unfortunate. It's about to get messier, I'm afraid. The case has been taken out of Mr. Bloom's hands and handed over to someone else."

"Nothing we weren't expecting. Ms. Blanchett was bound to re-assign it."

There was a brief, worrying pause before Ian spoke again. "Cate found it prudent to warn me, actually. Mr. Armitage was rather adamant that he handle this particular case, and she couldn't deny him this request."

Lee's breath caught in his throat. "Shit." It would normally be welcome news. Normally, if Richard hadn't specifically asked to handle the case - which was something he just never did - and if the case didn't deal with a specific subject matter that he was bound to hone in on. Not that he had before now...infidelity cases were a dime a dozen. "Why now? Why this one?"

"The 'why this one,' well, we could guess. As to the 'why now,' I'm just as in the dark as you are. Try to find out at the arraignment, if you can."

 

There wasn't much of a chance to talk at the arraignment - Richard had almost been late, and after he'd screwed them over by not budging on maximum sentencing, he'd rushed out again. Lee had to settle for much later, when he caught sight of Richard at Kircher's bar (the unofficial after hours hangout for the entire local justice department, and maybe for the odd struggling artist or two) right across the courthouse, well into the night. 

Lee was fixed with a disapproving stare before he'd even properly seated himself at Richard's table. "Mr. Pace..."

"Whatever. Graham's not here." He made a show of making himself comfortable on the rickety seat, unbuttoning his outer jacket and stretching his legs under the table. The brush against Richard's leg had been accidental, and the contact brief as Richard drew his own legs back and sat up straighter. 

Lee plastered on a polite smile. "How are you?"

Richard looked amused and wary. "I've been fine since we last saw each other this afternoon," he carefully said. "Shouldn't you be meeting with your client?"

"Over and done with. Nice job denying him bail, by the way. Don't think I've ever seen anyone denied bail so thoroughly before."

Richard looked down at the table, his lips twisted in a not-quite smile, his hand grabbing his drink - whisky on ice, probably, and already sweating through the glass. "You're not bringing up the case here, are you?"

"I'm not?"

He shook his head. "You're not."

"Oh. All right, then." Lee didn't want to, not really. Not when Graham wasn't around and Richard was looking a few drinks away from being tipsy. The lighting in Kircher's bathed everything in a soft, ambient red-orange, but Lee could still make out the faint flush on Richard's cheeks, and the way his body relaxed against everything that was holding it up. "So, why are you without the Great Scotsman on this cold, lonely night?"

" _Graham_ took his daughter to a doctor's appointment. I'm just meeting someone, I won't stay here long."

Lee ignored the sudden, unpleasant tightness in his belly. He injected a bit of playfulness in his tone to help keep his smile up. "Why, _Richard._ On a Monday night, what would your parents say?"

Richard frowned. "If you _must_ know-"

"Oh God, sorry I'm late!"

A young man appeared at their table, and Lee's first impression of the disheveled youth was that his dark hair was curly in that annoying, perpetually-photogenic way, and too fucking Irish sounded about right. Richard's smile was warm as the two exchanged a fond, familiar hug. When they broke apart, Richard took a few seconds to nab a third chair from a nearby table while Aidan blinked wide-eyed at Lee.

"Am I interrupting something?" Aidan eventually asked, with a note of suspicion. 

"Yes."

" _No_ ," Richard said, with unnecessary vehemence. "Aidan, this is Lee Pace, from McKellen-Weaving."

There was no trace of ignorance on the young man's face when they clasped hands in a firm handshake. Lee held no doubt that this boy knew who he was. "A pleasure," he said. "Sorry I took your seat." He gave Aidan an open, assessing look while the young man seated himself. "So you're the nephew."

Aidan went from looking distantly cautious to Christmas having arrived early and showering him with confetti. Lee couldn't help but find the zero-to-sixty facial transformation rather infectious. "Really? He called me that?"

Oops. He could feel Richard's hot glare without even turning his head. "...If 'adoptive nephew' counts, I guess?"

The bright, cheeky smile Aidan beamed at Richard was full of self-satisfaction. Lee wondered what sort of second-hand familial dispute he'd managed to knee in the groin this time. 

"Don't get used to it," Richard muttered. "How was the game?"

"Ooo, whiplash!" Aidan laughed. He leaned forward eagerly in his seat, which he'd scooted closer to Richard. "Great, great. We won, but that goes without saying. Oh, and I sent Graham home at the airport, but he said it's important you call him as soon as you can. Something about a handwriting analy-"

" _Yes,_ thank you, Aidan," Richard interrupted again, with a stiff smile. He rose from his chair while fishing his phone out of his pocket. He was a step away from leaving when he paused, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the two seated men. 

Lee held up a hand in oath-taking fashion. "I swear your nephew will still be whole, functional, and dubiously literate when you return." Aidan just sort of mockingly laughed, which had Richard sporting an embarrassed flush when he finally left to make his call.

"So," Aidan ventured, not a minute into the silence, and teasingly mimicking Lee's earlier tone, " _you're_ Mr. Pace."

"Guilty." Lee leaned back in his chair and defensively held his hands up. "Whatever you've heard about me, let me just say, I am a nicer and more reasonable person in the flesh."

Aidan grinned, all teeth and sparkling eyes. "Graham said you'd say that."

" _Graham_ told you about me?"

"Few times," Aidan said, "around the ballpark of 'stay away from that morally-corrupt lunatic.' You don't seem half bad, though." The young man bowed his head and seemed to busy himself with opening a pack of cigarettes. "Heard about you from the news, mostly. And once from Uncle. My real one, not Richard."

"And how is the real uncle?" Lee surprised himself by actually being curious. He hadn't heard much about Nesbitt since the mess of a media storm two years back. Whoever his crisis manager was deserved a bonus.

"Good. Busy." His hands stilled for a moment, one cigarette frozen halfway out of the box. "They're getting back together, y'know."

Lee's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Yeah, 'oh,'" Aidan said, his brows furrowed. "I mean, not _yet_ , obviously. But it's just a matter of time."

Which was probably Aidan-speak for "not really," Lee surmised. "What makes you say that?"

Aidan leaned forward, exuding excitement and smug energy, his voice pitched low like he was divulging some big secret. "They've been calling each other more. _Loads_ more."

"Hm. I'm surprised Graham's fine with that."

It was nearly comical, how large Aidan's eyes grew. Such a sweet, earnest boy, really. There was little wonder he'd been intent on maintaining contact with Richard even after the split. "You won't tell him, will you? Not that I'm saying you would - we've only just met, and you don't owe me anything-"

"Of course not." Aidan still looked worried. Lee shrugged. "I'm a lawyer. If I went around blabbing secrets, I'd be dead by now."

"Good, good." That brilliant smile from earlier made a brief reappearance. "I mean - the not telling part, not the dead part. I just really want this to go well, you know? Uncle's smiling a lot more these days, too."

 _I bet he is._ Lee had a caustic reply half-formed on his lips when Aidan's features once again lost all positive energy and turned somber. "I've been meaning to say...never got an opportunity, really, but since we're here..." He took a deep breath. "Thank you, you know. For before."

Lee peered at him quietly for a few seconds, his mind playing what he last said on repeat while trying to grasp for a context. He gave up. "Please start making sense."

Aidan's mouth firmed. He made a face and raked his hand through his hair. "I'm glad someone was there with him, 's all. It could have been so much worse."

 _Oh_. Lee felt the last threads of his good humor fall. "Yes. It could have," he said, regretting the way his voice reflected some of the acrimony he felt. Aidan picked up on it and looked a little abashed. "And you're welcome."

The ensuing icy silence permeated even the young man's near-constant good cheer. He ducked his head and burned through his cigarette in relative peace while Lee took the occasional sip from his drink and let the uncomfortable quiet stretch.

Two years ago felt like a lifetime, mostly because of how the people around him talked about it. Remember that time, how long ago was it, I saw it on the news again - wasn't it sad? Wasn't it just terrible, how it all happened? It's so great how they're both moving on with their lives. 

And Richard did look fine, he supposed. If not for Graham's round-the-clock presence. If not for a multitude of little details that all explained why Richard didn't smile anymore when people bid him good morning, and why his weekends were spent late at the office with a few glasses of good bourbon at lights out.

Lee had no idea how Nesbitt was doing. _"Good. Busy,"_ apparently. And they've been calling each other "loads" more.

He breathed out a soundless sigh and distractedly watched the young man across from him attempt (and fail) to blow smoke rings with every misty exhalation. He wanted to say he hadn't done it for Aidan, so no thanks were necessary. But that just reminded him of how he'd done it for _Ian,_ because Ian was his superior and he had sounded like he knew what he was doing at the time. But after the incident, after the cameras stopped filming and the reporters stopped nosing around the courthouse, when Lee's clue bat finally hit home and he realized that it wasn't just Richard's and James's worlds that had changed, he hoped Richard thought he had done it for him, too. 

He didn't have much going for him, after all. He'd already fibbed his first impression, back when he was still green and Ian hadn't taken an interest in his career yet. Richard just _had_ to be walking by when his tie got caught in the courthouse's ancient printer and he'd needed an embarrassing amount of rescuing. The prosecutor hadn't been in his thoughts much then, if at all. Richard had been the trial lawyer Ian bitched about sometimes when things were heading south. A celebrity by proxy due to his (then) life partner. There were still old magazines stockpiled in their waiting room with spreads featuring the two of them in their $7,000 Tom Ford suits, sterling silver watches, and diamond cufflinks. 

Then his career had taken an odd turn after he'd landed a few large settlements for their firm. Instead of being left alone to continue in that vein, Ian had taken him aside and asked, "How do you feel about criminal law?"

Gradually, names he'd only heard tossed around their offices acquired faces and became more familiar. Richard, as it turned out, was humble and shy outside of court, something which Lee had almost been sure was an affectation to get into people's good graces, regardless of Ian's assurances to the contrary. He'd tested it, even - poked and prodded at the man when he was in a state similar to how he was now: relaxed but not drunk, candid but not unguarded. He had been more disappointed than relieved when he failed. Ian had gloated for days.

Lee roused from his musings when a sound of utter dismay came from the chair across from him. He looked up to see Richard having filched the half-smoked stick from Aidan's fingers and stubbed it on the ashtray in the middle of the table. 

"Not while you're staying with me," Richard said, completely ignoring Aidan's indignant "Uncle said you used to smoke at my age!" and pressing something into the young man's now empty hand. "Key to the house, keys to the car. You still remember the passcode?"

 _Passcode_. Wow. The baseball bat at Lee's bedside table now seemed woefully inadequate.

"Yeah." Aidan stood. Lee couldn't blame him for looking relieved. "Will you be here long?"

"Not long. I have something I need to discuss with Mr. Pace."

When they were alone again, Richard clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "An item we believe to be your client's was just recovered from Ms. Lily's dresser this afternoon."

Well, shit.

"We'll hand it over when it returns from testing."

Lee sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "I thought we weren't talking about the case?" he said, and he'd really meant for that to come out with some hint of teasing, but it just came across as curt and a little accusatory. If Richard wanted to get into this, he still had a bone to pick as to why he was insisting on maximum sentencing.

Richard looked surprised. Then regretful. And awkward. "You're right. I did say that." He withdrew his hands from the table and laid them on his thighs. One might have been scratching a bit - Lee doubted if Richard even knew that he tended to do that when he was feeling embarrassed. "Look-"

"So what did I do, that you won't call me by my name?" Lee interrupted. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the way Richard's eyes dropped to the table between them. 

"Why is it so important to you?"

"Because I like to think of us as friends." Even to his own ears, he sounded a little miffed. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I have friends." Richard's expression closed off, and that right hand was definitely scratching his thigh now if it hadn't been earlier. And he was still very decidedly not answering (or even addressing) Lee's question. As much as Lee found him irresistible, Richard was, ironically, the most frustratingly non-confrontational man he had ever met when it came to matters unrelated to work, and it wasn't doing much for his stress levels. 

"You have _Graham_ ," Lee countered. "Who has an adoring family. He can't be there for you all the time."

A misstep, Lee belatedly realized, when Richard's countenance smoothed back into pleasant, familiar territory. "You'd be surprised." Saying that drew out a brilliant, fond smile out of the man. Lee tried to stomp on his jealousy and failed by quite a lot. "Good night, _Mr. Pace_."

Richard wrapped his coat tightly around himself and walked away from his table. He took a small detour towards the bar, had a short word with the bartender, and placed a fiver in the open charity can before he left - but then he always did that. Not many seemed to notice, but Lee did, and Lee was also fairly sure that those bills only ever really benefited the person behind the bar. 

Minutes after he was abandoned to his own drink at Richard's table, Lee opened the messaging app on his phone and typed a message:

_Met Aidan. Couldn't have at least spared my feelings and mentioned in passing that Nesbitt and Richard are back together, could you?_

Lee pocketed the device as soon as he'd hit "Send." As sweet a boy as Aidan appeared, he placed his trust in strangers far too quickly.

 

There had been no response from Graham, but Lee hadn't been expecting one. The man had stopped replying to any sort of message from Lee months ago. Confirmation that he'd even read the text came three days later in Richard's office, while he and the prosecutor were updating their witness lists. Graham had wordlessly handed Richard an envelope, and Richard had responded with a formal and dismissive, "Thank you."

Considering how familiar the two men normally were with each other (and disgustingly affectionate - Lee didn't care how Graham tried to justify it, letting a sleeping man nuzzle into your neck while you tucked a blanket around him was not normal Bro Behavior), that had practically been Richard yelling at Graham to get the hell out.

Graham hadn't looked too pleased, either. _Must have been some fight_ , Lee thought, and tried to convince himself that being proud of what he'd just achieved was a bad, bad thing.

 

"It wasn't. Stolen, I mean." The vitriolic diatribe Martin had greeted Lee with earlier seemed to have fizzled out and died when Lee mentioned the new evidence. All that was left behind was this filth-free, eerie meekness that ill-suited the man. 

"If it wasn't stolen, then please tell me there's a good reason for your watch to have ended up in Ms. Lily's dresser."

Martin winced. "Must have been during one of those times when I stayed over for tea?"

"Mr. Freeman..." Lee said with grit teeth and thinning patience. Clients lying or hiding relevant information was never a pleasant experience.

Martin raised his hand. "I know what you're thinking. It wasn't an affair, it was _tea_! And it was only sometimes. We talked about the bloody weather and last night's football game, and the fucking horrible state of public transport. There was no kissing or touching or anything of the sort! Does..." Martin's gaze turned wide-eyed and fearful. "Does my Amanda know? About any of this?"

My Amanda. Always "my Amanda," and fuck it if Lee didn't find that so helplessly charming. "I doubt anyone's told her about this recent development yet, but...she _will_ find out. It's best if it came directly from you."

"Oh God." He ran his hand through his hair, perplexed. "Oh God. Can't you...anything? A gag order? Isn't that something you lawyers can do?"

"That wouldn't apply here. I'm sorry." Martin fell silent and looked at the floor. Lee wasn't quite sure if he'd heard him. He canted his head to the side, trying to catch the man's eyes. "I'll schedule a visit for her tomorrow, all right?"

It was a while before Martin spoke again. "She's going to doubt me, isn't she?"

Lee didn't know Amanda. He'd talked to her a few times because of the case, mostly in their offices. He'd had to, and despite the nature of his questions, Amanda's trust in Martin remained steadfast and wholehearted. Like a big, damn oak against a brewing thunderstorm. 

Like how Richard used to talk about Nesbitt to other people when they were still together, whenever the latter would say something controversial on TV. 

No, he didn't know Amanda, but he could definitely see that Martin's devotion to her wasn't one-sided. "You don't have anything to worry about if things happened the way you say they did." He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile when Martin met his eyes. "She's been your strongest supporter since all this started. Have a little more faith in her."

"Yeah, but I know how this looks, don't I? And I know how this will look to _her_." He straightened in his chair and rubbed both hands over his face. "Jesus. I've done nothing but tell the truth the whole time I've been here, and it all sounds fake, like some fucking excuse, doesn't it?"

Martin didn't seem to be looking for a reply, so Lee kept quiet. It _did_ sound fake. It was not the sort of talk that was received well in court, not from a man accused of murder and infidelity. 

Lee believed him, though. Not that it mattered.

"She's going to be so hurt. And mad. Mostly hurt. Fuck." Martin sighed. "You're right, I need to talk to her."

"Why _doesn't_ Amanda know that you sometimes stayed over for tea?" Lee asked, as gently as he could.

"I don't know. Evangeline's a sweet girl, and a bloke likes to have his ego stroked sometimes, you know? Didn't want to have that conversation, I suppose." Martin slumped in his chair, looking so downtrodden and defeated that Lee wished he had Ian's talent for knowing exactly what to say to make a client feel better. "I'm tired. Can we continue this tomorrow?"

Lee drummed his fingers on the tabletop. So what if they were running out of tomorrows? Martin was near useless whenever he was like this, anyway - worried sick about his wife, and playing out imaginary scenarios of how badly things could go when next they met. 

"Sure," he said, with a practiced, reassuring smile. "Take all the time you need."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was McKellen-Weaving's best investigator, or so Lee was often told. Problem was, he'd never actually seen the man in action as he was always working for Ian (if he was working at all), and whenever he showed up, he always had a baby or two attached somewhere. The official paperwork listed him as freelance, but Lee had seen the books - Ian was paying him quite a large amount, and at regular intervals.

He still wasn't quite sure what the arrangement was there, only bits and pieces of how Dean was once military or secret service and was framed for something, and Ian bailed him out. After that, he'd worked exclusively for McKellen-Weaving, showing up at odd times, often saddled with one of his many siblings' children. 

Lee was just relieved that Dean was finally showing up for him, really. Except he wasn't quite sure if Dean was actually _doing_ anything.

"I told you, I'm following a lead." He was about to say more, when the drooling baby in his arms chose that moment to thrust her little fingers straight up his nose. Dean didn't even flinch when he expertly fished her hand away from his face. A ginger this time - God, how many children did his siblings have? Lee swore it was a different baby every time he visited. "It's a good lead. Or it might be a good lead. I'm going to have to find out first."

"Yes, but _what_ lead? Who's your source? And when can I get this information?"

"Can't say. Can't say. Probably in two or three weeks?"

"That's too long." Lee briefly glared at the baby currently trying to reach for his scarf. Dean smirked and leaned forward more so that she could reach it.

"Two and a half?"

"Jesus Christ."

"One week!"

"You're just changing your answer based on how upset I am."

"Nah, I like watching your eyebrows. They move funny." The baby kept a tight grab on the now saliva-soaked scarf, but began to wetly chew on Lee's lapel as well. "Two to three weeks. I'll update you when I have something concrete."

Lee crossed his arms. The infant was half-leaning into him with her forehead pressed against his chest, and was making happy gurgling noises against his ruined suit. "Just don't forget that an innocent man's freedom rests on what you find. I think Graham's already two steps ahead of you."

"Impossible," Dean said. "He's too busy with Richard, anyway."

"Mr. Pace!"

Lee looked up to see Aidan hurriedly making his way to him from the front desk. His hair was in disarray, though whether it was because he'd rushed here or if that was its natural state was still a puzzle to Lee. It didn't look all that different from when he'd met him at the bar. "Aidan," Lee greeted with a pleasant smile, as soon as the young man had stopped nearby and caught his breath. "What brings you to our humble offices?"

"You know why! I can't believe you told. They haven't spoken in a wee - hello, Princess!"

One moment, Aidan was at eye level, the next, he was half-crouched in front of the baby right in the middle of Dean's and Lee's infant-joined bodies. Lee wished he shared Dean's amusement, but an assistant that openly stared at the three of them before rushing past made him realize just how ridiculous they looked, standing so close in the middle of a public hallway.

The baby had no such qualms, though. Must be an O'Gorman thing. She shrieked, giggled, and enthusiastically pushed at Aidan's grinning mouth with her hand.

Lee cleared his throat. "...Yes. Er. Aidan, meet..." he looked briefly to Dean for help.

"Jules."

"Jules. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Lee made little tugs on his scarf to remove it from the tiny hooligan's grasp, but his hands were shooed away and the task carefully taken over by a couple of Irish fingers. 

"Nooo, no, don't eat that," Aidan practically cooed at the infant, his hands looking freakishly large while it tried to unclench the grabby little digits, "you'll get traitor germs all over your pretty face. Yes, you will!"

"'Traitor'?" Dean said, his eyes sparkling. Baby fingers successfully removed, they now busied themselves with grabbing Aidan's lower lip and long, stray curls instead. "Can't say I haven't heard that before. But what did he do this time?"

It was eerie, how both Aidan and the baby just stared at Dean after he'd spoken. 

"He's Dean," Lee helpfully supplied, from a few feet away. He made a face at the large, wet stain on his scarf and unwrapped it from his neck. "And that's not his baby, by the way."

"My brother's." Lee wondered if Dean was going to do anything about his niece being halfway out of his front strap and pouring slowly into Aidan's eager arms. "Are you doing anything right now? Because I haven't had breakfast, and I could really use some help with her."

It was like watching some exotic animal perform a unique biological function in Animal Planet, the way Dean herded Aidan out with nothing but a four-month-old infant (which Aidan was now carrying and might run away with). From the transparent window, Dean signalled and mouthed "two to three weeks!"

Lee sighed, nodded, and gestured for him to go on. He was glad he wasn't keeping tally of his chances with Richard, because he was pretty sure he'd be in the negatives by now, with a whopping three figures added when Richard discovers that he'd just introduced his adoptive nephew to a notorious rake.

 

One of the (admittedly numerous) downsides to working across from Richard Armitage was the odd weekend phone call or two. From his office. With an invitation to come up, and the implication that if Lee didn't pick up whatever Richard had for him at that moment, he'd probably regret it later. It was just that crucial.

Lee had a strict view on weekends, in that they shouldn't be messed with. It was unnatural. Weekends were sort-your-paperwork-at-home, let-the-investigators-do-their-jobs, watch-porn-if-there's-time-tonight type of days. Weekends were sacred.

Despite the ill humor he felt on having his scheduled rest interrupted (he'd been planning on skipping the paperwork and heading straight to happy hour that day; he needed the stress relief and he hadn't had a free weekend in the past month since he'd taken on the damn case), he was finding it difficult to get too annoyed. Not when Richard was wearing a blood-red cardigan that added color to his skin and brought out the blue in his eyes. Lee's thought processes got stuck somewhere in between "Boarding school's that way, Headmaster," and "Oh hey, baby, give me a little spin" and just refused to cooperate from there.

Though if Lee were being honest with himself, his mind couldn't completely veer away from "give me a little spin" at the moment.

"Mr. Pace?"

But not with that glare. Maybe he should ask for a paddling.

"Mr. Pace!"

"I was listening," Lee grumpily murmured. The yawn he couldn't suppress was already halfway out by the time he raised his hand to try and cover it. God. It was eight-freaking-o'clock and he hadn't even had his coffee yet. And considering the direction his thoughts were going, it was probably best to just skip the porn tonight, too.

He couldn't even be bothered to be self-conscious about the long-sleeved "HE WEARS THE PANTS; I CONTROL THE ZIPPER" sweatshirt he'd grabbed from the recesses of his sparse closet (reminder: must do laundry) and the blue-and-white striped beanie he'd thrown on to keep his untamed hair hidden from view. It had been too much effort to look for his comb. 

"To reiterate: second degree murder. Fifteen years." Richard settled behind his desk when he seemed satisfied that Lee was listening. "This is the _only_ offer I'm giving you, and it's off the table once trial starts. Why are you smiling?"

"Just admiring how you're talking like we don't even have a case."

"I'm just trying to save us time." Richard clasped his hands on the desk. "It's going to be he said/she said in court, and what little evidence we have goes in favor of Ms. Lily."

He was right, of course. Lee could cast doubt on the existence of the affair, but he couldn't argue it as fact. What evidence he could see the prosecution had might be circumstantial, but piled up enough, it could look damning to a jury. "You should be offering us manslaughter _at the most_ , and you know it. And come on, fifteen years?"

"Rather generous compared to life imprisonment."

Lee made a face. "We'll stick to 'not guilty,' thanks."

"You have a duty to tell your client-"

"You'll lose on first degree. No, this is ridiculous, and I'll just advise him not to take it, anyway." He smiled. "See, I'm saving us time, too."

His attempt at levity was met with an unimpressed, stony expression. "Just remember that you have until the first day of trial."

"Right." Lee was aching for coffee. Like it or not, today just became a workday, despite his unfortunate choice of clothing. "Anything else?"

Richard hesitated in the act of dumping a sheaf of papers onto a second pile to his right. He glanced at Lee briefly before resuming his task. "So Aidan can't shut up about Dean recently."

Lee winced. "Sorry?"

"Don't apologize. Make it stop."

He laughed. "Not everyone has the amount of control _you_ have over your investigator."

"I don't control Graham. Besides, he doesn't have a reputation for-"

Lee raised his hands in a placating gesture. "All false, I swear." He paused a moment, considering. "Mostly false. Oh, don't give me that look. Just hazards of the job, you know how it gets. He's a decent guy, our Dean."

"If you say so." Richard's tone said that he believed no such thing. 

"Isn't Aidan a bit too old to be coddled by his fake uncle?"

"He's young, and his idea of a good time is hitchhiking across trucker-infested wastelands just so he can surprise me in time for Christmas." Richard leaned back with a sigh. "He gets away with too much from his parents. Not to mention Jimmy."

"Yes, how _is_ 'Jimmy'?" Lee leaned forward, elbows braced against his spread knees, hands clasped together and a mocking look of interest on his face. "Cheated on any other lovers recently?"

Richard was still for a brief, tense moment. "You've made your opinion of James very clear in the past," he eventually said, a definite hint of warning there, "but I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."

"Sounds like you've forgiven him."

"I believe that's none of your business."

"I also hear it's the season for getting knocked up by politicians over in Ireland-"

" _Mr. Pace_!" Richard was _glowering_ , and Lee knew he'd pushed a bit too far. "I believe you know the way out."

"Right." He gave a wry laugh as he stood. "No one wants to see a repeat of what happened. Some of us haven't forgotten."

Lee hesitated at the glass door, taking in Richard's straight back, his averted gaze. He took off his hat and roughly raked a hand through his hair, a million things he wanted to say hovering on his tongue - none of them polite, or appropriate. "Right," he repeated instead. "I'll let you know about the plea bargain."

 

It was 1pm on a Saturday, and McKellen-Weaving was like a beehive. "You all know you're not getting overtime for any of this, right?" Lee asked a passing associate, who merely smiled indulgently at him before going on her way. At least he wasn't the only one dressed casually, although no one else was sporting anything quite so ridiculous as what he'd put together. Lee ducked out of the seventh "nice shirt" conversation he was dragged into by holing himself up in Ian's office and refusing to budge.

"I didn't know I'd be working when I got out of bed this morning," Lee whined, while faceplanted on Ian's mahogany desk.

Ian chuckled. "Buck up and deal with it. You're starting to gain a good reputation on your own - once the case files pile up, you'll have no Sundays to speak of."

"I am so in the wrong line of work."

"Could be worse. You could have ended up as an ASA, government salary and all."

"Oh God." He angled his head to blink blearily up at his mentor. "Should we be considering fifteen years?"

It was a while before Ian replied. "It's not really what we do. But you've been here long enough to know that." He removed his glasses and set it beside the affidavit he had been reviewing. "Within reason, of course. If Mr. Freeman decides he wants to accept the plea offer regardless of our advice, then that's that."

There was a saying among the old-timers in the firm: McKellen-Weaving-Blanchett had existed because of Criminal Law. McKellen-Weaving existed in spite of it. Lee smiled a little. "I've been toying with the idea of putting Amanda on the stand."

Ian mulled over this for a moment. "I wouldn't. It opens her up to the prosecution."

"What if that's not such a bad thing?" Lee asked, recalling his last visit to the Freeman household. "Sensible woman, devoted wife, unwavering loyalty...swears by her husband, who loves her as much now as he did before they got married. It could work for us."

"Only if there's a large possibility of Richard going easy on her." Ian stroked his chin as he thought. "He has in the past, as I recall. Few cases, he pulled back when he was cross-examining affected parties."

The more Lee thought about it, the more the idea seemed to sour. "He won't be easy on her."

"You're sure?"

"Very."

"Hmm. Don't dismiss it entirely. Weigh it as the trial goes - apart from our character witnesses, it's either our client or his wife, anything less is just lying back and taking a guilty verdict from the jury." Lee barked a laugh at the mental image that conjured. Ian smiled. "Go over the witness lists with Mr. Freeman again, maybe he'll remember something that Richard can use against him."

 

Martin couldn't recall much else, except for the addition that his shop assistant, Jed (who was also on Richard's list) kept a log of the hours, and he knew the times that Martin left and may have lingered longer for tea before returning to the shop. Lee mentally filed that for later inspection. 

Trial wasn't looking good for Mr. Freeman in general. Dean remained annoyingly elusive, and when Judge Jackson had run out of patience (and, in effect, drastically cut down Lee's continuances to zero), trial had gone underway.

Witnesses were called regarding the events of the day in question, relating eyewitness accounts, damaging test results (or inconclusive, once Lee's experts have had their say later), all in the span of three weeks. Evangeline Lily's testimony was the most damaging of the lot, and it didn't help that Martin had a few vulgar, angry outbursts while she was in the spotlight. At least Lee had managed to suppress two frivolous witnesses on Richard's list - a Mr. Stephen Fry, Evangeline's former teaching colleague, and a Sgt. Luke Evans, her ex-boyfriend.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending on how one chose to see it), the question of whether or not it would benefit Lee to put Amanda up on the stand was helpfully answered by the witness Richard had saved for last. 

Mr. Brophy was a bundle of nervous energy just waiting to burst, and with the way he kept glancing apologetically at Martin and the gallery, Lee braced himself for unforeseen surprises. The testimony regarding clocked hours had been expected - Lee had mentioned it briefly in his opening statement to try and mitigate the damage - but then Richard kept going with a ledger in his hands and an intense look in his eyes. The Armitage Warning System, in full effect. 

On a particular Thursday, three weeks prior to the incident, Amanda had dropped by at the store while Martin had been out doing Ms. Lily's delivery. He was gone for more than three hours. When he returned, she asked him what took him so long, wasn't it just a twenty-minute drive? To which he said he'd taken a detour to Across the Water for their monthly payment.

Except:

"Across the Water is always closed on Thursdays," Jed nervously said, one knee tapping to some inner rhythm while he wore the most sorry look Lee had ever seen on an employee. "It's why we always collect their monthlies on Mondays or Tuesdays."

"Don't delivery duties often fall on you?"

"Yes."

"Did you ask if you could make the delivery that day?"

"I did. He said not to trouble myself and that he'd do it." Jed bit his lower lip, and hurriedly added, "It's not like it's unusua-"

"So Mr. Freeman left to deliver Ms. Lily's orders, spent three hours on a delivery that normally only takes one, and, when asked, told his wife that he'd taken a detour to a shop that's closed on Thursdays." Richard looked up at Jed from the ledger in his hand. "Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"One last question, Mr. Brophy: was this an isolated incident?"

Jed's reply sounded meek. "No."

As if the look of utter guilt on Martin's face wasn't damaging enough, Amanda, who was sitting patiently in the gallery with their two adorable children, looked absolutely stricken.

Lee did the best he could, but there was only so much he could do at that point. Cast doubt, "is it possible," "do you know for a fact," so on and so forth. He didn't need to look at the jury's faces to know that the day had ended badly for them.

 

It was Amanda who broke the silence as soon as they were afforded privacy in Martin's cell. She turned towards Lee, eyes still shining with hurt, and said, "A moment, please, Mr. Pace. I need to talk to my husband."

Which left Lee pressed up against the corner wall, earphones on, music blaring just loud enough to drown out the conversation taking place a few feet away from him. Looking at the two of them, heads bowed, souls bared, both miserable but still managing to talk respectfully in turns - _this is how that conversation should have gone_. 

_"You're bloody fucking telling me this_ over the phone _?!"_

Lee crossed his arms tight over his chest. It was odd, really, how clearly he still remembered that day. He'd still been shadowing Ian at the time - the case had been corporate embezzlement, and Richard had danced over the corpse of their case by squeezing out an implicating testimony from their last witness. There had been a steady increase of noise outside of the courtroom, and by the time it had become bothersome enough to notice, a gaggle of reporters had already formed an impassable wall beyond the open door and the two tense security personnel standing guard on either side of it.

Judge Serkis, annoyed, had asked what the commotion was. When there were no clear answers, he merely ordered that the doors be held shut while they finished up in the courtroom. It was a good thirty minutes before everything was finalized and they could leave, and most of them had forgotten about the media still hovering outside. Lee was frankly surprised they were still there at all.

He thought, perhaps, that they were there to ask about Ian's recent loss - the man very rarely lost a case, after all, though their client wasn't very high on the public outrage meter. But as they stepped out, phones, microphones, tape recorders, and cameras all flocked to Richard like a coordinated swarm of angry bees.

They wanted to know what Richard thought of Ambassador-slash-Human Rights Advocate James Nesbitt's recent statement, they said. Has Mr. Nesbitt spoken to you prior to this afternoon? What will happen to your shared properties? Is this a shock, or do you have an open relationship? Has Mr. Nesbitt contacted you at all?

Richard was frozen on the spot, trying to make sense of what the reporters were saying and what they wanted from him. There was a deafening, collective hush when the phone gripped in his right hand started to ring.

When the questions started again, the reporters' rousing voices sounded like an oncoming giant wave. Lee was transfixed on the confusion on Richard's face. Even though he was looking at his buzzing phone and it was in his hand, he seemed physically incapable of answering it.

Ian broke the spell. He pushed past both Lee and the sea of reporters and took a firm hold of Richard's wrist. "Car," he ordered Lee, voice even and firm as wrought iron. He dragged Richard towards the courthouse entrance, hand on wrist, fielding anything thrown their way with a forbidding look and a neutrally-intoned "no comment."

Lee wasn't exactly sure how they managed to herd Richard safely into the car and leave without running over a rabid journalist on the way out, but within minutes, he was driving through a fairly peaceful street on the way to the nearest highway exit. Richard's phone had stopped ringing somewhere in between the courthouse and the car, but not a minute into the backseat, and it had started buzzing again. 

Richard took the call on the first ring. And Lee had tried, he had honestly tried, not to listen in. But they weren't in some fancy limousine that had that soundproof glass you could raise and lower, they were in a reconstituted brown sedan that kept needing repairs twice a month, and there was nothing preventing either Lee or Ian from overhearing everything.

Every word from Richard's end was firmly ingrained in Lee's memory. Bad enough that the man seemed to have forgotten he and Ian were in hearing distance, but his voice had taken on a quality that had Lee wanting to stop the car, grab his phone, and hurl it into the nearest river. It wasn't like the righteous indignation he often heard in court (which was usually just a professional affectation anyway) - Richard sounded like he was talking through a sob, that he was just a few seconds shy of breaking open and falling apart. 

The worst had been when the anger began to slowly peter out, leaving the hurt behind. Richard started to talk less and Nesbitt more. It wouldn't be so terrible if he'd been calming down, but he just sounded resigned and exhausted. 

"Jimmy, how could you?" Richard had said - the last thing he spoke over the phone. There had been silence from him after that, and a lot of noisy, desperate crackling on the other end of the line as Nesbitt just kept talking and talking. Lee could sometimes almost hear Nesbitt's voice, whenever there was a gap between cars that passed through the other lane, or whenever he had to briefly slow down during a turn in the road. He chanced a glance at the rear-view mirror and wished he hadn't. Richard was huddled against the side of the car, almost like he wanted to fold in on himself - head bowed, left arm held tight against his chest and right hand keeping the phone flush against his ear. His temple was pressed against the closed glass window.

Lee couldn't quite see his eyes. That was probably a blessing.

Nesbitt had still been talking when Richard canceled the call and turned off his phone. He pressed the edge of it against his brow, silent, before pocketing it and covering his mouth with his hand for the duration of the ride.

Lee had seen his share of people trying to juggle their heartbreak while clinging desperately to their composure in public. Criminal litigation tended to shower you with them, whether you liked it or not. Seeing Richard like this, though - shy Richard, who embarrassed easily, giggled far too often for a grown man in his 40s, and smiled back at everyone's "good morning"s - was affecting Lee far more than he thought it would, and something in him just wanted to reach back and stop that hand from shaking.

He wished Ian would move - clasp his shoulder, hold his hand. Say _something_. Ian always knew what to say. But for whatever reason, his mentor kept his distance, and the silence stretched on for several more minutes until they drove up to Richard's street. 

A bright flash went off in his direct line of vision. Lee cursed under his breath and very carefully parked his car on the sidewalk. He was still blinking away red and green spots when he heard the passenger door open and close. There may have been a murmured "thank you," Lee wasn't sure - the noise outside was staggering. By the time his eyesight was back to normal, he could only catch a glimpse of Richard's back as the man ignored the swarming media and fast-walked towards the door of his house.

Lee would learn later, through the grainy, shaky cell phone footage that they would keep repeating in the news for the next four months, that Richard's downcast eyes had been red-rimmed, and he'd kept his right hand covering his mouth. Lee would further learn in the months to come that Richard only ever did that when he was deeply upset.

He didn't quite like recalling that expression on Richard's face. It always made him angry.

Richard had sent a thank-you wine basket to Ian and Lee later. Ian still kept the Cuvee Catherine Pinot Noir on display in a glass cabinet in his office. (Lee had consumed his rather quickly - it was hard to resist good vintage.)

It was a slow but steady ride to epiphany after that incident. If asked, he'd be hard-pressed to pinpoint when he realized that his feelings for Richard had changed - like asking someone, to the very second, when they fell asleep. Forced to guess, it would be somewhere between seeing Richard in the rear view mirror and shopping for groceries eight months later, probably.

Not that he saw much of Richard after that. From a distance, the consecutive months seemed like hell for the prosecutor, with news outlets replaying that moment after court and the walk to his house over and over, alongside footage of Nesbitt and his girl being chased by paparazzi over in Ireland. Both men kept a low profile afterwards. At some point, Richard's and Nesbitt's mutual acquaintances left the prosecutor's circle, and Graham had wedged himself permanently in. Graham, who used to be Nesbitt's close (if not best) friend. If there was a story there, Lee had yet to figure out what it was.

His playlist had gone on loop. A brief glance towards the middle of the room gave him the impression that the couple was far from done, although he was glad to find a lack of abject crying and yelling. 

He wished he'd had the foresight to drag an empty chair over. _Oh well_ , he thought, as he bucked up and made himself comfortable on the cold cement, _I didn't like this coat much, anyway_.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite it being a relatively innocent gesture, Lee couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was a bad idea.

The next court date had been moved a few weeks later due to unforeseen circumstances (hurrah for full dockets and hospitalized judges), and August had rolled in like a doped up turtle too lazy to go back to sea. It was mid-afternoon - late enough that whoever would have wanted to visit Richard already had, and early enough that those planning on having dinner there hadn't arrived yet. Or so Lee hoped.

He groaned and slid back against the upholstery, his eyes fixing on the wrapped parcel occupying the car seat beside his. He'd ring the bell and leave. Well, ring the bell, drop the parcel on the steps, and leave. Sounded simple enough. And he had it on good authority that he could run pretty fast, if the Chief of Police was to be believed. 

In retrospect, Lee really should know better than to put his faith in simple plans.

His finger hadn't spent two seconds on the doorbell when the door was swiftly yanked open, and a pissed off-looking Graham was staring back at him in surprise and annoyance. "What are you doing here?!" he growled, and Lee found himself taking a reflexive step back. "Whatever it is can wait 'til tomorrow, now's not a good time!"

"All right, geez." Lee was quick enough to hide the wide box behind him, at least. "I just wanted to-"

There were voices from inside the house. Graham's attention was pulled away from Lee for a moment, a short conversation taking place outside of his hearing. A while later, Graham stepped back and held the door open for him. "You may as well," he said, frowning deeply. "No one ever listens to me in this house."

From the expression on Graham's face, and the eerie silence waiting for him beyond the open door, Lee wondered if he should just turn tail and flee. His curiosity was getting the better of him, though, and with Graham's annoyance visibly increasing with every passing second, he found it best to step through.

A tense scene greeted him, with Richard in the middle of the room, leaning against the divider separating the living room from the kitchen and looking extremely ill-at-ease in his own house. He was sporting black pants and a black cardigan over a light grey shirt - simple clothes, but they accentuated all the right things and would have been an arresting sight, if only the other occupant of the room hadn't captured most of Lee's attention. Off to one side was James fucking Nesbitt in a plain polo shirt, coat, and tailor-cut pants, looking for all the world like he belonged and had every right to be there. 

Lee hadn't been in the room for five seconds, when Nesbitt seemed to hone in on him as well, a sharply raised eyebrow accompanying his question: "Who's this, then?"

Richard didn't even spare a glance in Nesbitt's direction. "Mr. Pace, good afternoon. Has something come up?"

"What do you mean?" Lee said, confused. 

Richard frowned. Nesbitt was starting to look amused. "About the case. I assume that's why you're here."

Lee shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Not...uh. Really."

"Oh, I think this was a social call," Nesbitt drawled. His glance had drifted to where Lee was hiding the parcel between him and the wall, and Lee had no illusions that the older man hadn't gotten a brief peek at what he was holding. Instead of calling him out on it, however, Nesbitt said, with a contemplative tone, "You're one of McKellen's boys. I recognize you."

"Should I be flattered?"

"Mr. Pace..." Richard said, cautioning. Graham stood beside him and leaned an arm against the wall, his keen eyes watching the three of them. _Ever the officer._ Judging from the tightness around Graham's eyes and his wary stance, whatever they had been discussing before Lee had come along hadn't been going well. 

"Cheeky," Nesbitt said. "I've been hearing a lot about you lately. Think it's time we had a little chat."

Before Lee could fully process what was happening, Nesbitt had approached, taken his hands out of his coat pockets, and was gripping Lee's arm and steering him towards the door. 

"Jimmy, leave him alone." Richard sounded more annoyed than alarmed, which Lee took some comfort in. Nesbitt could get mercurial when he was pissed off, as a certain member of the WBC could attest to, but Lee had some height over the man, and he didn't seem overly bothered when Lee shrugged off his grip. 

"You'll have him back in one piece, don't worry," Nesbitt called out behind them.

There was a chilly bite in the air outside, and a darker cast on the streets than what was normal for four in the afternoon. A thunderstorm warning had been on the news, but it was predicted to fall well into the night. Lee quickly hid the box inside the recesses of his thin jacket and folded his arms over it just as Nesbitt turned around from closing the door behind him. 

"So tell me," Nesbitt said, replacing his hands in the deep pockets of his coat, "what's in the box, loverboy?"

"With all due respect, Sir-"

" _Ooh_ , a cub scout, are we?" Nesbitt's laugh set Lee's teeth on edge. "This'll be much easier for both of us if you can pretend that I can't have every policeman in this country arrest you for human trafficking."

Lee smiled. He liked candid. And he'd heard worse threats from his own clients, really. "Box is none of your business."

"Clearly, I'm _making_ it my business."

"You can't do that." 

Nesbitt raised an eyebrow. 

"You don't get to do that, not after what you did. Besides, Graham owns the whole hurt-him-and-I'll-break-your-bones thing already."

Nesbitt laughed. The sound was surprisingly infectious and malice-free. "That he does. I really was just curious about what's in the box," he said, with an amused tone. His right hand idly scratched his temple. "But now that you mention it, Richard is actually _still_ very much my business. Tends to happen when you've been a part of someone's life for twenty years. I can't just turn that off, and neither can he."

"I'm not telling you what's in the box," Lee faintly said. He was starting to feel out of his depth. Any bad vibes or hostility he might have been expecting from Nesbitt had yet to make an appearance. This whole enmity thing was starting to feel uncomfortably one-sided. "So, how's the wife?"

" _Sonia_ is fine, thank you. She wanted me to convince Richard to drop by on a holiday, actually."

"Isn't that nice," Lee dryly said. "And why did you drag me out here?"

"Like I said. To talk." Nesbitt bowed his head, eyes on the pavement. "How long have you been at McKellen-Weaving?"

"About four years."

"Mm. And in that time, you've gone from handling settlements to shadowing Ian in criminal trials?"

"Sounds about right."

Nesbitt raised his head, wearing a slight wince as he spoke, "Have to admit, Mr. Pace, all I've seen from you is your work. I don't know _you_ , but I know Ian. He was my personal lawyer for, oh...seven years or so. Didn't know that, did you?"

Lee frowned and shook his head. It must have been quite a long time ago. Normally, he was all right with secrets - their firm operated under an unspoken rule that anything that was required knowledge would always be passed on to the relevant parties. But Ian not having mentioned this bothered him by quite a bit. 

"I know how the McKellen-Weaving firm runs," Nesbitt continued, watching Lee closely, "the precious 'tenets' of your named partners. You know about those yet? Wait, no, can't imagine that you do. It was all during Cate's time."

"Don't see what any of this has to do with my being here."

He was fixed with an unreadable look. "You're the very poster boy of a litigation lawyer under Ian's care, Mr. Pace. I'm guessing you're a very good liar. _Exceedingly_ good. With a face like that? Doesn't take much to convince anyone of your good intentions, does it? I imagine it's why Graham doesn't like you."

Lee gave a slight smile. "I know why Graham doesn't like me. We've crossed paths a few times."

"All right. Let me rephrase: I imagine it's why our burly resident Scot doesn't want you anywhere _near_ Richard."

Okay. That might have stung a little. "That's work. I would never involve him in any of that."

"Wouldn't you?" Nesbitt's gaze took on a keen edge, and, beneath it, Lee felt like he was being peeled open. "You know why I changed firms? I thought, 'one of these days, Ian's going to overstep himself and this rickety black tower he's built will come crashing down.' He likes to toe the grey lines. Most times, it's for the best. But we both know it hasn't always been."

"No, it hasn't," Lee agreed. "But that was before I came on board. The firm's been doing well since then." The regret in his mentor's voice was palpable whenever he talked about Ms. Blanchett. Though, Lee now had a feeling Nesbitt knew even more about that than he did. People at the firm either didn't know the details or simply refused to talk about them.

Nesbitt shrugged. "I think some habits are hard to break."

"I still don't see...I'm not _Ian_ -"

"No. But he's grooming you to take over, isn't he?" Nesbitt smiled when Lee gestured helplessly. "He often talked before about how the reins of the firm would either be passed on to the right person or die a sad, lonely death. Sold off or liquidated." The wide grin he gave lacked humor. "And then you came along."

"You seem to know a lot more about Ian's plans than I do."

"Oh, I've known him longer than you have. I know that Ian has you doing some dangerous things. Ethically dangerous. Disbarred-if-caught sort of dangerous. You don't have to confirm or deny, we both know it's true."

Lee gave a lopsided grin. "For the record, I'm denying it."

"Of course you are," Nesbitt said, with a charitable smile. "Either way, it's all very underhanded and messy."

Lee released a short, self-deprecating laugh. He bowed his head, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of the wrapped box he'd hid (rather poorly) inside his jacket. "...And you're saying Richard doesn't deserve 'messy.'"

"From where I stand, that's all you're offering him, really." He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but Nesbitt actually sounded apologetic. "Look - I'm not telling you to back off. I'm just asking that you be _absolutely_ sure you know what you're doing first."

Lee raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "That's a tall order. Were _you_? When you and he-"

"We were, actually," Nesbitt replied, a contemplative frown on his face. It was a moment before he elaborated. "Our mutual friends didn't really think much beyond the 'he's gay, you're bi, you should totally hook up' aspect of it all, but we shared similar goals, what with law and politics. We also had something the other wanted - contacts, resources. It made a lot of sense." He sighed and scratched his head - Lee was starting to think it was a nervous habit. "And love was easy then, I suppose. Richard made it all very easy."

"He still does." At Nesbitt's inquiring glance, Lee took a deep breath. "Make it easy. For you. In case you hadn't noticed."

It felt way too satisfying, seeing the chagrined look on Nesbitt's face. The Irishman's eyes seemed to be drawn back to the house, where the lights were turned on now in a few rooms. Lee had some trouble deciphering the expression on his face - regret, definitely, and something else he didn't quite understand yet. 

"It's his birthday, you know," Nesbitt quietly said. Before Lee could correct him, he amended himself, with a quick glance at Lee's jacket: "Oh, I suppose you do. Birthdays are a sore point for us. Didn't think I'd bollix everything up by coming here today."

Lee thought back to the tense atmosphere he'd walked into earlier, and the fairly large space separating Richard from where Nesbitt had been standing. "Not a planned visit, then?"

"Makes two of us." Nesbitt glanced up at the light drizzle that was beginning to fall from the overcast sky. "Looks like rain. You should come back inside."

"Actually," Lee hesitantly said, under Nesbitt's far too knowing and sympathetic look, "I'd better head back. Have things to do." At the pointed glance directed at the barely-concealed box, he added, "I'll send it to him tomorrow."

Despite present circumstances, Lee had the gnawing suspicion that Nesbitt wasn't very pleased with his leaving. "All right," Nesbitt eventually said, lightly, and with an offer of a handshake. 

Lee looked down at the proffered hand. It was a tense three seconds before he gave in and shook it.

Nesbitt gave him a parting half-smile. "Just think about what I've said."

Lee huffed under his breath, turning up the hood of his jacket against the cold and the rain as he made his way back to his car. Nesbitt needn't have bothered - not like he'd be doing anything else for the rest of the night.

 

The clouds were really working up a storm by the time Lee arrived at his flat. He dumped the box under the glass table and headed for the ice-cold Obsidian Stouts hiding in the fridge, all the while trying to recall the last time he'd felt this despondent. The closest memory was as a fresh graduate, chest-deep in student loans, driving the brown car he'd inherited from his father, and living in an apartment that wasn't that much smaller than his current one (but had bugs, broken lights, and no hot water to speak of - his current one might still be small, but it was in a good neighborhood and had everything he needed...and _would_ be clean if he got off his ass and cleared his things off the floor). He hadn't been anywhere near acing the bar exam, but he'd always scored very well on the practicals - which didn't matter one iota because all the good firms wanted top-notchers in both.

That hadn't been a dark time, but it had been close. He'd been fortunate to have friends in similar situations to meet up with, chat, have fun, discuss jaded ideals, and bemoan the state of a world that suddenly felt like it had far too many lawyers in it and far too few reasons to have them.

Some part of him still would have preferred those days to this. At least the world just kept him unemployed instead of conspiring to make him feel unwanted. Too many voices telling him Richard wasn't his brightest idea, and to please just expend his energy on someone or something else.

Well, he had always been off-beat as a kid. He liked to think that whatever he was doing with Richard was some sort of new personal record.

Lee sighed and tilted his head back against the small couch, pressing the shockingly cold base of the beer bottle on his aching forehead. Screw Nesbitt, anyway. (And screw Graham too, just 'cause.)

He had a feeling he dozed, but couldn't be sure. The storm outside was a raging, tree-uprooting affair that drowned out most sounds when he roused from the alcohol-induced buzz he'd been riding, so it took a while for him to realize someone had been knocking on his door for who knew how long.

He stifled a groan and gingerly got up, contemplated forgoing the pants, then decided to put them on because being able to look his neighbors in the eye tomorrow would be a good thing. That was the only aspect he didn't quite like about his current living conditions - the community was pleasant and liked to get the tenants involved, so that was another set of socializing Lee had to face outside of work. Normally, he didn't mind - his mom had always said he was a people person. But being left alone during one of his less sociable days was a luxury of the past (until he could move into that much larger bachelor pad he'd been eyeing for the past two months - closer to McKellen-Weaving, neighbors mostly consisting of urban business professionals who were probably up to their chins in illicit activity, and he was just two paydays short of being able to afford a one-year lease without having to pull from his savings).

"Richard," Lee said, still in the midst of trying to comprehend why a waterlogged Richard Armitage was standing on the other side of the door instead of Anna, the building's self-appointed community organizer. (Whom Lee often thought of as "Anna Banana" for reasons of a facial shape-y nature. He was internally afraid of accidentally blurting that out to her face one of these days because she had a knack for knocking on his door at the most inopportune times.) 

His fuzzy mind congratulated itself - _good call on the pants._

"I'm sorry about the hour," Richard said. He was wearing the same outfit from earlier, with the fashionable addition of what looked like five gallons of rainwater. "I tried to call, but you weren't picking up."

"I was, erm. Preoccupied." Lee opened the door wider and stepped back. "Nevermind that, you're soaked! Come in, I'll get you a towel."

It took a swift mental kick and Richard's highly amused expression while he was standing in the middle of the room, looking around, to remind Lee that his living space wasn't at all fit for public scrutiny, much less presentable enough to impress the object of his affections. 

"Sorry about the...the er..." He was going to say "clutter," but clutter was scattered parchment and work things, not empty plastic cups, dirty laundry, and last week's Chinese. He couldn't decide what was more embarrassing: that his unlaundered clothes were just heaped up in a painfully visible area, or that the trash bags were the only neatly folded things in the room. "Shit. I'm not making a good impression, am I?"

"It's fine," Richard said with a smile. A very _polite_ smile. Lee felt his self-esteem wither a little. "Reminds me of my university days."

"That's not making me feel better."

Richard chuckled. 

"How do you know where I live?" Lee went around the room, fully closing the windows to muffle the sounds of the storm outside. He grabbed a fluffy green towel from a hanger by the light switch and handed it to Richard.

"...Were you keeping it secret?" Richard asked, with a look that said his opinion of Lee would lower considerably if he said yes.

"I guess not."

"Good." Richard wiped his face and began vigorously rubbing the towel over his hair. "And I've known since Ian requested an overnight police escort right outside your building, about seven months ago."

"You what now?" Lee frowned, trying to recall such an incident. He was pretty sure he'd remember something like that. "What for?"

"Retaliation threat. That class action suit against Erebor Industries? Ian received some detailed threats that included both your addresses, and we had to take him into a safehouse and station men around your street."

"How did I not know about this?" Ian had told him nothing about a threat of any sort. He might have just been shadowing him as co-counsel at the time, but wow. "Wait. How come Ian gets a safehouse?"

Richard paused for a moment while drying himself. "The threat implied that the potential suspect thought you and Ian were romantically involved, and hinted that he would come for you first."

Lee's jaw dropped. "You were using me as _bait_?"

"Ian told us you knew."

"I didn't."

"Yes, we realized that later." Richard looked mildly embarrassed. "I wanted to come up and say hello, but Graham didn't think it was a good idea."

 _Fucking Graham._ He cleared what he could of the mess on the couch. "You should have. We could have been murdered together and died as legendary upholders of the law."

"Mm. Our martyrdom breaking the enmity between prosecutors and defense lawyers?"

"They'll make a new class of lawyers in our honor. Prosefense." Lee grinned at Richard's expression. "What? Defecutors?"

"Oh God."

"Sorry."

Richard shook his head with a small grin. "You should be." He carefully folded the towel and raised his eyebrows at Lee. "Where do you want this?"

 _Are you kidding me._ This was a little too similar to an incident they'd shared a year or so back, and Lee was starting to suspect Richard was just generally bad at the whole keeping-yourself-warm thing. There was still a drop of rainwater dangling from the tip of his nose, even. Lee sighed and pushed himself away from the counter he'd been leaning on. Grabbing the proffered towel, he shook it loose again and draped it over Richard's still-damp head. "Your hair thanks you, but you have the rest of your body to answer to."

"Mr. Pace...!" Richard scrambled a bit to halt the sudden onslaught of cotton absorption and large hands all over his person.

" _Richard,_ " Lee said, closely imitating Richard's stern tone. "You're in my flat. You've seen my dirty underwear. I think 'Lee' is more than appropriate by now, don't you?"

" _Lee._ " It was more a bark to get him to stop, but Lee did a small mental jig anyway. "Will you - I'm perfectly capable of drying myself!"

Lee tried to keep the smugness to a minimum as he relinquished control of the towel. Richard obediently wrapped the cloth around his shoulders and gingerly rubbed behind his ears, though his movements paused after a while when he saw that Lee was still hovering nearby, biting his lower lip and itching to say something. " _What_?"

"You're going to freeze to death in those wet clothes, but I'm afraid that if I ask you to remove them, you'll think that's the best I can come up with in terms of seduction."

"I'm _keeping_ my clothes, thank you. I wasn't planning on staying long."

"I can't let you go out again in this weather." Richard didn't look very happy with that. Lee placed a hand cautiously on his arm, over the towel, trying to let his tone convey his sincerity. "Just wait out the storm if you like, it'll probably be over in an hour or so. I can fix us something warm to drink."

While Richard seriously mulled this over, Lee was getting that feeling again, the one that told him what he was doing wasn't one of his brightest ideas and it was going to come back and bite him in the ass later. His gut was on cloud nine, however. And when Richard took a brief glance at the three consecutive lightning flashes visible through the closed windows, his resolve seemed to crumble bit by bit.

"Don't make me call Graham," Lee said, hoping it would be the final push.

Richard looked surprised. "How do you have Graham's number?"

"Um. I don't?" _Right._ Graham had changed his number again after Lee had messaged him, and he wasn't supposed to know about the new one. "Hey, why don't you sit down, and I'll just go put the kettle on." Fortunately, Richard seemed more amused than anything else. It was a short walk to the four small counters that Lee considered his kitchen, however spartan and barely-used. He mostly utilized it to make three-minute ramen and open beer bottles. "Where is he, anyway? Thought he'd be here by now, taking you home and blaming me for making it rain while you're outside."

"He drove Jimmy to the airport."

"Oh. Was he here just for today?" Lee felt oddly conflicted about that, his and Nesbitt's not-so-unpleasant conversation earlier still fresh in his mind. When the silence stretched, he looked over his shoulder. "Richard?"

Richard's back was to him, and he seemed to have stopped toweling himself again. Lee set aside two clean mugs and walked over to where his guest was standing.

Upon hearing his approach, Richard gave him a brief, apologetic smile. He lightly gestured to what he was holding. "It has my name on it..." In his hands was the wrapped parcel Lee had been toting around for the better part of the day. One end looked horribly squished, and part of the gift wrap had wrinkled beyond repair, but despite the ill treatment, those large, unblemished hands still held it with great care. 

Lee rubbed the back of his neck. "It's yours, I was just...I was going to give it to you earlier, but. Well. I _was_ going to try again tomorrow."

The corners of Richard's eyes tightened. He said, without looking up from the discovered gift, "You shouldn't have left. I'm sorry about Jimmy."

Lee had a reply formed, but released an in-drawn breath instead and smiled. As adorable and rueful as Richard sounded, he didn't want to ruin the companionable atmosphere just yet by discussing Nesbitt. "Open it."

All the crap that had happened that day was worth it just to see Richard's serious face break into an unburdened, open grin once the packaging was fully removed. "My goodness. All right," he said, his deep voice full of curiosity and amusement, "You need to tell me how you know."

Lee hoped the wide smile on his face right now wasn't too silly. "I can't. You'll sue me."

"Was it Aidan or Jimmy?"

"Neither." His determination to keep that bit of info to himself on pain of death steadily eroded when Richard wrapped his arms around the whole set, hugging it close to his chest, all the while giving Lee an expectant, fond look. 

Dammit. 

"That time when I helped you tweet your fake nephew, I may have taken a small detour into your music library."

Posttrial.m3u, in particular, but he didn't need to elaborate. Richard remembered and was nodding slightly. "I got a lecture from Graham about that, and a long list of all the things that could have gone wrong just by handing you my phone."

"I wouldn't do that to you." Before the ensuing silence could reach unrecoverable levels of embarrassment, he quickly asked, "You like it?"

" _Yes._ More than I ought to, I'm ashamed to admit." Richard shuffled the brightly-colored Blu-Ray cases around. "No 'Bambi'?"

"Too depressing."

Richard displayed the Up! case and gave him a look.

"Dumb talking dogs make up for it."

He laughed. "If you say so." The whole set was laid down onto the glass table and Richard started browsing through it. After a short while, he found what he was looking for and fished out a blue-colored case. "Do you have a player?"

 

They ended up having to push and turn the couch around, as it was too small to comfortably house both of their six-feet-plus frames. A thick blanket and a couple of pillows resulted in an appropriate movie-watching venue on the floor, the couch's back serving as their lazy backrest, each holding a cup of steaming-hot coffee in his hands while the animated film played on. 

Except Lee couldn't concentrate on it, not with the little tremors Richard was trying to hide under the layers of damp cloth and wool. Lee was dry, and even _he_ was starting to shiver from the cold - he couldn't imagine how it must be for someone who'd been drenched earlier and was too stubborn to change into something else. Richard's face and neck were flushed, but not the good sort, his skin all mottled with patches of red. Lee didn't miss the way his fingers clung to the mug, and how he kept breathing in the steam before taking slow sips from the rim.

It was still pretty early in the film, so he got up at an opportune moment and rummaged through his closet. One embarrassing shirt after another, and finally he found the one he was looking for - a dark jumper that Lee had bought on a whim because of the printed text, but ended up being too thick for his tastes and a bit too large around the shoulders (and the crowd he had planned to wear it with had moved on to being full-fledged _mature_ adults, so there was never any occasion to wear it again). 

He internally winced at the slogan, but he had nothing else that was of an appropriate-ish size, or quite as warm or comfortable. A pair of black, white-lined track pants joined it on his arm, and he returned to where Richard was still sitting and pretending not to shiver.

Richard glared at the offered bundle. "No," he said, before Lee could open his mouth. "And you're missing the fairies."

"You'll get sick. Or freeze to death. Either way, Graham and his cop buddies will rip off my balls in the morning, so _please_ , for my well-being if not yours..."

"It's too much trouble, I'll be leaving for home as soon as the storm stops. And I'm f-"

"If you say you're fine, I'm going to dress you myself." That just earned him an amused look. Why did no one ever take his threats seriously? "I'm not letting up and we're both missing the movie, so the only flexible variant that can do anything about this situation right now is you."

As if on cue, Richard's shoulders hunched as another chill-induced tremor crawled up his spine. After an awkward moment where he just breathed into his cupped hands and Lee stood nearby wearing the smug smile of the annoyingly correct, he rolled his eyes and relented, gesturing for the clothes. Lee grinned cheekily as he handed them over.

Richard was halfway off the floor, clothes gathered in his hands, when he caught sight of the partial writing on the cloth. Wordlessly, he sat back down to unroll the large thing and stared at it. 

"What, it's not so bad. No one will see you," Lee immediately protested. Richard placed the jumper in Lee's direct line of vision as if to prove a point, the words "ALL I WANT IS A BEER AND A BLOWJOB IS THAT SO WRONG" in large, bold lettering all over the front. "No one will see you!"

" _I_ will see me."

"Don't look down, then." Lee laughed at Richard's expression. " _Honestly._ I wouldn't offer it if it wasn't so warm. Just try it first."

It took a bit more cajoling than that, but Richard eventually made his way to the bathroom. Lee waited at the door, a little impatient - he very rarely saw Richard in anything casual, and only recently in fucking adorable, fitting _cardigans_ , of all things. 

Richard startled when he emerged, not expecting Lee to be hovering so closeby. Lee quickly diffused any potential awkwardness by gesturing for his wet clothes, and he gave what he hoped was a consoling smile. "Warm, yeah?" he said, after Richard handed them over.

"...Yeah." The jumper was meant more for a six-foot-five or so person, probably - one of the few times that Lee had overshot his own height - and it didn't look like it fit Richard any better. The sleeves reached up to the middle of his hands, which he was rubbing against his chill-flushed cheeks, and the neckline was riding low enough to reveal half of a white shoulder. It was a far cry from the clean-cut, suit-toting nemesis Lee was more familiar with.

Richard sneezed.

Lee wasn't quite sure whether he could _ever_ find Richard intimidating after tonight. At least he'd have this image to fall back on whenever the prosecutor was decimating one of his cases during trial. 

He busied himself with clipping the wet clothes up to dry while the once-wet-now-couch-potato-looking officer of the law refilled their mugs at the kitchen counter.

Richard seemed ill at ease when they settled back onto their previous places on the floor, in front of the television. Mostly because of the neckline that kept riding down to expose various bits of skin, Lee guessed - he kept trying to pull it up. Lost cause, really. It was why Lee forewent wearing the thing after trying it on just once. Eventually, Richard gave up, just letting the loose fabric loll whichever way, engrossed as he was when Prince Phillip suddenly broke into song. This left a small window for Lee to enjoy the fortunate view he had of what he considered to be a gorgeous curve to a man's collarbone.

A moment later, Richard said, wistfully, "I like stories like this. They're light-hearted, simple. There's someone you can hate." He abruptly stopped talking, like he'd just said too much.

"You can hate people in real life," Lee tentatively said, when it was apparent Richard wasn't going to continue. "I do it all the time. In fact, I'm hating Graham right now."

That elicited a low chuckle. "You shouldn't hate Graham. He's had to put up with a lot more than I have these past two years." Lee made a disbelieving sound in his throat, which had Richard throwing him a kind look. "He has. You do know he and Jimmy were close?"

Lee scoffed. " _Everyone_ knows he and Nesbitt were close." Graham had enjoyed a reputation back then, back when Nesbitt was still an ambassador and Graham was a police lieutenant. He'd been slated for promotion, but there was an undisclosed internal investigation and Graham had been dismissed - only to be immediately re-hired by Nesbitt as his personal P.I.

No, that didn't look suspicious at all.

Richard's voice was slightly hushed when he spoke again. "When Jimmy started seeing Sonia, it was Graham on the front lines making his excuses. I took him at his word every single time. He was more Jimmy's friend than mine, but I had no reason to doubt him - he had always been kind and considerate in the past." He drew a knee closer to his chest and rested an arm on it, gaze unfocused and fixed on something distant. Lee could sense Richard was trying to find the right words to continue, but it was taking quite a bit of willpower for him not to interject with a few choice words of his own, along the lines of if this was how Richard planned on getting Lee to like Graham, it wasn't going well. He could imagine the late night phone calls, schedules being re-adjusted, overseas stays being extended, but don't worry Richard, he says he loves you and he'll be home before you know it.

Lee realized he probably didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hear Richard's soft, deep voice, scratchy with emotion, defending Graham's actions much like he often did when it came to Nesbitt. "You don't have to," he blurted out, steeling himself against the blue-eyed glance suddenly fixed on him. "Tell me, I mean. If you'd rather not."

"I'd rather you didn't give Graham any grief on top of what he already has to deal with."

"I _don't_. He's the one who keeps starting things." _Mostly_. Lee couldn't resist the occasional poke here and there, but only because Graham made it so easy sometimes. "And the bastard lied to your face about your cheating partner, how can you just-"

"A lot of people lied to me," Richard interrupted, his voice gaining a sharp edge that shut Lee up. "Jimmy and I had mutual friends. After the split, I _had_ friends. Jimmy still has quite a lot." He sighed, some of the tension easing from his posture. When he spoke, it was with a slight smile and a gentler voice. "I don't mind. Like you said: I have Graham."

"Graham, who was on the front lines, making Jimmy's excuses."

Lee expected his caustic remark to be met with offense, at the very least, but Richard just looked melancholy. That blue stare moved to the ground between them as Richard carefully made his way through a memory, speaking gently enough that Lee held no doubt it was coming from somewhere painful. "One of the nights when I was really upset, I made a list of all the times Jimmy had been away from home during the past year. The ones I could remember. I went over to Graham's - I hadn't spoken with him since the whole ordeal started, and I'd just assumed he'd go the way of Jimmy's other friends. 

"It was raining then, too. Not quite as hard as tonight, and I must have been cold, but I didn't notice until later. I asked him to tell me which ones on the list had been real, and..." He breathed out a short, self-deprecating sound, like an aborted laugh. "We couldn't go farther than January 15. Jimmy's birthday. I was crying so hard, I couldn't write anymore. It was all very embarrassing, in retrospect."

"I don't like hearing about you getting hurt."

Richard seemed to snap out of the memory with a jolt, his wide, blue eyes staring at Lee. As uncomfortable and vulnerable as that made him feel, Lee was just grateful that Richard had stopped talking. It was starting to sound too close to that moment in the car, with Lee at the wheel, and nothing to drown out the heartbreak going on in the backseat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off. Well, actually I did. That was rude. But you talk about the shit you went through and the men who caused it like it's nothing, and I don't - I don't, uh. Like. It." He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck as his voice lamely trailed off.

"Lee..." Richard started to say, his voice hovering between awe and frustration. It was a very confusing mix, and Lee looked up again, but Richard's face was half-hidden behind the hand covering his mouth, and he didn't say anything else for the next few seconds. 

Lee wasn't sure what he was feeling. _Bad_ , mostly. He wished Richard wouldn't cover his mouth like that. 

"The things you say sometimes," Richard finally said, his voice gravelly and with that same bewildering tone from earlier.

"Sorry." It seemed like an appropriate response, although Lee wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for. He wasn't quite sure what Richard meant, either.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably while Maleficent raged on the television screen. Eventually Richard, attempting levity, said, "What was it you said to Judge Lane that one time...? 'I swear on my mom's dressing gown that I have a point, if you'll just let me get to it.'"

"Hah. Yeah. Although, it upsets me that if I die tomorrow, that's one of the clear memories you'll have of me."

"I'll also remember this shirt."

"Careful. That was almost funny." Lee gave an awkward, sheepish smile. "I'm sorry I interrupted, but if you're going to continue, this needs to have a happy ending somewhere."

Richard didn't grace that with a direct reply, but at least his voice didn't sound so sad anymore when he continued. "Well...Graham took the pen from me and silently filled everything else in while I was trying to regain my composure. Every instant that I'd left out, every single time that he'd phoned me, including the exact dates and hours. And at the bottom of the list, he wrote 'I'm sorry.'" He took a deep, fortifying breath. "We had a long talk after that. It was worse for him, in some ways, because he was in the middle. Jimmy had put him there. And he didn't have to be, really - we both knew he was Jimmy's friend. But for whatever reason, it was me he chose during the split. It would have been much easier on him if he hadn't."

There was worship there, iron-clad and evened out with fucking cement. Having to make nice with Graham was something Lee never really thought would be in his future plans. "You make him sound like a saint. He forgive Nesbitt, too?"

"I don't know. I don't ask." Lee remembered how Graham had looked in the house earlier - more wary than hostile, and a little tired, of _both_ Richard and Nesbitt. Maybe also angry...? It was hard to tell with Scots. "But they talk, sometimes. And Jimmy calls him for a professional favor or two, now and then." Richard hesitated for a moment, his right hand picking at the loose threads of the left sleeve. "You and Jimmy talked for a long time earlier."

"Yeah, we did. Interesting man, your 'Jimmy.'"

Richard gave him a brief, knowing smile. "Hard to dislike him, isn't it?"

Lee breathed out a laugh. "I wouldn't say that. But if he'd really put his mind to it, I think he could have convinced me to sell my brother. At a discount."

Richard didn't share his amusement, however. He ducked his head, the smile vanishing from his lips, his hand still picking at that sleeve. "Is there something I should know?" he hesitantly asked. "What you and Jimmy talked about?"

 _Probably all of it._ "Nah. He just wanted to make sure I wasn't there to drop off a bomb at your house or anything like that. You know the reputation we McKellen-Weaving folks get."

Richard's gaze, when it returned to him, was earnest. Searching. Lee bore it bravely, but whatever it was Richard saw, he didn't seem very content with it. His tone was light and teasing, however, when he said, "All very well-deserved, I'm sure."

"Oh, that's not fair. You have insider information." They shared a laugh. "Some of it is true, though. Like the rumors about size and stamina."

Lee discovered that innuendo made Richard snicker like a naughty five-year-old. He bowed and shook his head while he laughed, though thanks to the jumper, Lee still had a generous view of the faint blush creeping up his neck and ears. 

The light-hearted tone continued, and Lee was happy enough to steer clear of more serious matters that night. He had fun keeping a mental tally of what made Richard smile or look at him with that sparkle in his eyes. The movie was approaching the more exciting parts and, despite the family-friendly nature of the film, the conversation swiftly veered into PG-13 and higher ratings as they discussed the many virtues of Prince Phillip on his white stallion. 

The weather actually seemed to be getting worse as the night grew deeper. Neither mentioned it, though both knew that meant Richard would be staying over. Lee had to remind himself several times that he was going to be a gentleman about it all, offering his bed (and not himself) when the time came for them to sleep.

Mostly, he just wanted to ask Richard why he'd knocked on Lee's door, soaking wet, braving a storm instead of just leaving a message like anyone else would. But he had a nagging suspicion he already knew. _"Birthdays are a sore point for us,"_ Nesbitt had said, and Richard's friends were few and seemed unfortunately absent. And the only other person who had popped up to give a damn had been summarily driven away by his ex-lover.

"Hey," Lee said, drawing Richard's gaze back to him from the screen. He waited until he had his full attention before he said, with a soft smile, "Happy Birthday."

The answering smile was one of the most perfect things Lee had ever seen in his life. (Partly because it also sort of proved his theory was right.) "It is, isn't it?" Richard said, almost shyly, just as the clock struck twelve and Aurora's dress changed colors from blue to pink, and back to blue again.

 

As mornings after went, things could be far worse. Lee's flat was still a mess, his back ached from having to try and fold itself on the couch (he eventually gave up and slept on the floor - where he discovered he had a bit of a dust problem going on), and at some point while they were asleep, a sharp branch had pierced a sizable hole through one of his windows and let the rain trickle straight to the floor. 

A quick glance at the occupied bed had him wearing the goofiest smile in history, however. Lee was given to understand that normal couples would be cooking a fragrant breakfast for their sleeping lover by now, which would be an advantageous custom to emulate at the moment, except a) Lee can't cook, and b) he had nothing with which to make a fragrant breakfast. Sure, he had eggs in the fridge, but he'd bought those five months ago. If he broke them open now, something argumentative might come out. 

He gave the phone a wistful glance and wondered if he could get away with ordering carry-out then pretending he'd cooked it himself. 

Instead, with a deep sigh, he plodded as quietly as he could close to the bed. Richard seemed to be a heavy sleeper - or maybe he'd just been exhausted the night before, which wouldn't surprise Lee. He'd be lucky to come out of all of this without a cold. 

Looking at him like this - in Lee's unmade bed, hair mussed, wearing Lee's naughty jumper, sleep lines on his cheek - Lee wouldn't mind having forever to get used to the sight of it every morning. 

_I dunno, Jimmy._ He gave into an impulse and raked the tips of his fingers through the chaotic fringe of black hair sticking out around Richard's forehead. _Messy seems to suit him just fine._


	4. Chapter 4

Lee wasn't sure how to explain the next few weeks. Trial proceeded as normal. Their character witnesses, while deemed relevant by the judge, kept being downplayed by Richard, who never failed to hammer in the fact that none of them were aware of the day-to-day goings-on within Martin's grocery, or about the deliveries he made to Evangeline Lily. Lee still had some hope, since all of that just went to motive and not criminal proof anyway, but it definitely wasn't helping paint a good picture of Martin. 

There had been a brief, heated exchange while his forensics expert was on the stand, but Lee had been expecting that and managed some well-placed counter arguments of his own during rebuttal. 

As for Richard...

The morning after the storm had been as pleasant as (if not more than) the night before. Breakfast had been a problem until Richard chanced upon the leftover half-pint of Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate ice cream in his freezer, and efficiently proved that that amount of chocolate ice cream a) could be breakfast, and b) could be consumed in less than two minutes. He lingered a while in Lee's apartment, the two of them continuing the light banter from the night before, but had to rush home when he remembered that Graham would be worried and probably overreact if he arrived at an empty house (wouldn't be the first time, apparently - and it had made such an impression on Richard that he never wished to see a repeat of it). He also waved off Lee's offer to drive him back, since it was a short commute.

Lee had sent him a message an hour later: _Did you get home safely?_ Richard had replied: _Yes, I did. Kind of you to ask._

And then...nothing. Lee had sent another message two days later, just asking how Richard was, and had received no answer. He chalked it up to the upcoming continuation of the trial, and he didn't think much of it since it gave him time to focus on his own affairs with Mr. Freeman. 

But during trial proceedings, Richard always arrived on the dot and had somewhere to go to after (or Graham would be there like a walking restraining order), and the few times Lee could corner him long enough for a word or two, Richard's replies remained polite and formal.

_You're avoiding me. Did I do something?_

Lee's finger hovered between "Send" and "Cancel."

_Message saved as Draft._

He huffed a small sound of annoyance, sought out the message in the drafts folder, and deleted it. _After the trial_ , he promised himself. Richard would have little reason to avoid him then.

It was ironic, then, that the very same day, he'd see Graham standing guard in front of the Freemans' front porch. Lee had a moment's panic when he thought something terrible must have happened, but then he caught sight of Richard's unmistakable figure visible just past the small opening of the front door, right beside Amanda.

Graham bodily blocked him from moving past, with a hand held up for both calm and distance. "This will just take a moment, Pace," the former policeman said, with that light Scottish accent Lee had learned to dislike.

Lee wore the most pleasant smile he could manage. "Circumventing spousal privilege, are we?" Louder, he said, towards the half-opened door, "Amanda! You don't have to talk to him-"

"She _knows._ Now, either you wait here _quietly_ , or I escort you back to your car down the street. Up to you."

He pocketed his hands, stomping on the overwhelming urge to fidget (or to poke Graham's chest repeatedly and see just how far he could stretch that limited patience of his). "Anyone ever told you you'd make an _excellent_ cop?"

Oh, the _look_ Graham was giving him. He was saved from having to endure a reply (or a punch in the face) when they both heard the voices from inside the house becoming clearer. Richard seemed to be saying his farewells, and whatever it was they had been discussing, it was upsetting Amanda. Lee could observe that much.

Richard arrived at where they were standing. He and Graham had a short conversation, and then Graham gave a curt nod and left them alone.

"Just thought you'd visit my client's wife, did you?" Lee began. Richard looked good, but then he always did in a suit and trench coat. His expression, however, was as distantly polite as his tone.

"I'm just informing her of her options." Lee followed his gaze back to the door, which Amanda had left open. He could see movement past the curtained windows - probably Amanda's restless pacing. "We went to school together, did you know? Back in Leicester. We never met, but we knew of each other by reputation, young as we were."

"And I'm sure that made for the perfect conversation starter. Probably even gave her the impression that you know her better than I ever could?" Richard's countenance gave little away. "Maybe you mean well, but I hope you realize you're straining a perfectly happy marriage here."

"I would hardly call it 'perfectly happy.' And strong marriages can withstand worse."

"You mean like yours did?" He almost felt guilty about the surprised look Richard threw him. Like he'd just been slapped when he was least expecting it. _Almost_. It was a reaction, and he'd take it. And fuck it, he _liked_ the Freeman couple. "Oh, wait - not like you were married, were you?"

Richard's brows furrowed. He averted his gaze to the ground, and his voice, when he spoke, was carefully neutral. "You're mad at me."

"I think I sort of am, yeah. But never mind that right now - she'll never testify against him. You don't even _need_ her to. And why aren't you answering my texts?"

Lee regretted the last as soon as he said it aloud. That had sounded petty. He was okay with petty, but that was jilted-high-school-sweetheart levels of petty, and Richard wasn't saying anything which was making him feel ten times worse.

"Sorry. I mean..." Lee let out a sound of frustration. "Look, I know that sounds -"

"No. No, I understand."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, just the occasional passing car and the muffled sounds of children playing from within the house breaking the silence. Lee wished Richard would look up at him. 

When Richard spoke again, it sounded cautious and practiced. "I've had some time to think. That's all."

 _That's all._ Lee bit his lower lip, stifling the dry laughter he wasn't able to fully suppress. "You mean you've had time for other people to tell you what a mistake I am." Richard's silence was reply enough. "It was _one night_ , Richard. Nothing even happened, we just talked. We can't even be friends, is that it?"

"I'm not the one preventing us from being _friends_." Richard finally looked up at Lee from under his lashes, his eyes an electric blue, intense and challenging. "Believe me - I'm all right with 'friends.'"

"I'm okay with that, too," Lee quickly replied, with as much conviction as his voice would allow. He didn't know what gave the lie away, but Richard just took a step back and shook his head.

"It's easy to forget how much younger you are sometimes."

"Don't you even - that has _nothing_ to do with-"

"You're right about one thing, though: I don't need her to testify." Richard cast one last glance at the half-open door, where Amanda was looking at both of them with a worried expression. "Take care, Mr. Pace," he said in parting, as he made his way down the porch and followed the path Graham had taken earlier.

"It's 'Mr. Pace' again, is it?" Lee called after the retreating figure. "Richard!"

Richard didn't even pause.

_"Dammit."_

 

A migraine was blooming somewhere at the back of Lee's brain. Martin was being especially bull-headed today. He suspected that Amanda's visit earlier might have something to do with it. He had greeted Lee with _"why haven't you put me on the stand?"_ and their discussion had steadily degraded from there.

"I've told you this before - we're saving you for last. If possible, we would recommend against you testifying at all, given the many creative ways you can say 'fuck you and the boat you rode in on.'"

"I can bloody well control that!"

"You haven't been able to so far." He leaned across the table and fixed Martin with an earnest look. "That little outburst while Ms. Lily was testifying probably cost you a couple of jury members. You can't be aggressive around her-"

"Did you-! Did you not _hear_ what she was claiming I said about my Amanda-"

"I did, and your reaction _doesn't help_." Martin slumped back in his chair, exhaling loudly and rubbing his hands across his face. "Evangeline's smart. Every time you reacted to her, she played off of that - whenever you appeared aggressive, she'd cower. Whenever you'd look offended, she'd look hurt. The jury ate it up and people in the _gallery_ wanted to punch you."

"She was spreading _lies_ about my wife."

"I know. But you need to start listening to me and watch yourself during trial." He tapped his finger on the table, unsure of how much to say. It was hard to predict which developments, good or bad, could send Martin into a new wave of panic. "We're not in a good place right now. I'm not sure we can make Reasonable Doubt - if things turn further south, we might need to consider changing our defense during your testimony."

"Into what?"

 _Crime of Passion._ Lee sighed and gestured idly with his hand. "We'll discuss it when we get there. There are still a few things we can try at the firm...just hang tight, all right?"

"Yeah, I'll just make sure my busy schedule can accommodate that," Martin said, with a bitter laugh.

A wry smile curved Lee's lips. He asked, after a moment, "You and Amanda all right?"

"I suppose. She got flustered when that prosecutor bloke visited her."

"I think he's trying to get her to break spousal privilege."

"Well, fuck 'im, 'cause she won't. So good fucking luck to them."

As annoying as Martin usually was, Lee couldn't help but marvel at the man sometimes. "How did you know?" At the confused expression directed at him, he clarified, "About Amanda. What made you think 'forever' and 'wedding bells' with her?"

"Oh...I dunno, really." Martin frowned. "No fucking clue, I suppose." He waved a hand at Lee's disbelieving look. "I'm not even joking. We met by chance. She laughed at my jokes. Haven't been able to get my mind off her since."

"That sounds so...normal."

Martin looked amused. "Yeah. Yeah, it does, doesn't it? I wouldn't have changed anything about it, though. Was bloody awful to go after her, let me tell you that. I was _literally_ competing with men nearly twice my height."

Lee laughed at the image that painted. Then got a little disturbed, considering Amanda was even shorter than Martin was.

"Also," Martin continued, his eyes shining, "I'm _so_ sorry if my current freedom-or-utter-ruin situation's so fucking boring that you had to ask about how I found true love instead. Very inspiring, watching real justice at work. The fine gears of our legal system, just cranking away."

"...You could have just said you minded answering."

"Yeah, I could have." Martin said, with an unrepentant grin.

 

Dean's reappearance in their offices was met with a one-man fanfare - namely Lee, annoyed, nearly slamming into a passing paralegal in his hurry to reach the investigator, and speaking in a tone louder and harsher than normal. It lasted for a grand total of five seconds, before Dean put up a hand and gestured to the sleeping baby strapped to his chest. 

"...Do you just carry a baby around so no one will yell at you?" Lee asked, with a touch of marvel.

"Babies are wonderful, aren't they?" Dean grinned and playfully hid his mouth behind the baby's head. "Anyway, you know Callen, right?" He frowned when Lee shook his head. "John Callen? This firm's other PI-slash-security consultant, hangs around Shire Street, white hair, beard, glasses -"

"You mean that homeless guy near the municipal hall?"

Dean looked horrified.

"...No?" Lee asked uncertainly. "Always holding that white cup, sitting at a corner...?"

"Tell me you didn't put money in it."

"I absolutely did _not_ put money in it," Lee parroted obediently. "I did not put money in it around three times, give or take."

"... _Christ_ , Lee. Okay, first of all: don't do that again. Ever. Second: he's not homeless, so please don't call him that." Dean sighed loudly. "And if the opportunity ever comes, pretend you don't know me, or I'll lose one of my biggest field assets in this city."

Lee _had_ heard the name before, several times, in fact. But as he'd never actually seen nor been introduced to the man, he was pretty sure he couldn't be blamed for any of his previous faux pas. "What about him?"

"He's been doing a lot of legwork these past few months, so you owe him one. Anyway, we found something you need to see."

 

Dean's absolute lack of presence and influence over the investigative proceedings thus far was being made up for in one day. Lee was brought to an inauspicious house in a small, suburban neighborhood, and was introduced to former military forensic pathologist (now junior league baseball coach), Adam Brown.

Lee didn't have to ask if they'd served together - it was pretty clear from their body language. A few army memorabilia also hung along the walls, beside portraits and junior league photographs and medals. When Adam mentioned his date of dismissal, it coincided neatly with the whole sordid affair regarding Dean's imprisonment and Ian's intervention. If Dean had a problem with Lee having that knowledge, he gave no indication.

Lee's curiosity on that matter would have to be sated later. As for now, he was having a hard time reconciling the fact that Adam's table had stickers of cartoon baseball characters and wads of pink gum that couldn't be scraped off along the edges, while recently-taken pictures of the victim's body were spread over it, complete with detailed close-ups of the sordid knife wounds.

Adam returned from the kitchen to place three glasses of orange juice and a heaping plate of vanilla poppy seed muffins beside the photographs. 

Dean snickered at Lee's expression. "Most of his visitors are younger than 10."

"Right."

As soon as they were all settled, Adam transformed from pleasant host into medical professional, showing Lee one photograph after another and explaining - sometimes with jargon Lee could barely follow - certain inconsistencies in two particular wounds compared to the others. 

"Wait -" Lee peered at the copies of the photographs which Adam had helpfully encircled with a Ren and Stimpy marker, "you're saying _our_ experts missed these?"

"Don't take it personally," Dean said, a little smugly. "Adam's just really, really good."

"So how come he's not working for us?"

The two shared a knowing glance. "Well," Dean carefully said, "he's not exactly allowed to practice anymore."

"In a very specific, court-ordered way," Adam helpfully chimed in. 

_Never stopped us before,_ Lee wanted to say, but he'd seen the books, and some of the more curious outgoing payments the firm made. Maybe Adam wasn't as detached from their firm as he'd first thought. He leaned forward, fingers steepled, and asked, "So what do these inconsistencies mean, exactly?"

Adam launched into another five-minute explanation that had Lee asking him to slow down and back up more than once. Several minutes and muffins later, with three photographs in hand and a newfound rudimentary grasp of knife wounds, he carefully ventured, "You think there's a second knife?"

Adam paused, rubbing his hands against his thighs for warmth. He looked pleased that Lee had arrived at that conclusion. "I'm actually quite sure there's a second knife," he said. "The one you have in custody isn't the murder weapon."

"John's been trying to piece together where she went when she left her apartment, assuming it's within the timeframe of the actual stabbing and not before," Dean supplied. He went over the rest - that they had recently found what they believed to be CCTV footage of her heading down an alleyway near Dale Street at 7:15 pm, but that the footage's quality was too low to be confirmative. The alleyway was a dead end - exploring it yielded nothing. But further digging revealed that the area had been part of a recent police sweep for illegal substances, and among the officers that had conducted the sweep was a familiar name.

"Sgt. Luke Evans." Lee tapped a finger on the encircled name, recalling how he'd stood in front of the judge and argued against the admission of his testimony. "Amazing work."

"You don't have to sound so surprised."

"You think he took everything that Evangeline may have left there?"

"Took. Disposed." Dean shrugged and lightly bounced the stirring baby in his arms. "He's well-insulated. We've tried everything we could-"

Adam cleared his throat. " _Almost_ everything."

"That's right," Dean said, with a bright grin at Adam.

Neither man spoke again, and Lee was left with the distinct impression that he was expected to talk. "If you require more leeway, I can argue what we know now and buy you more time..." he slowly said, but Dean was shaking his head. He winced. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"We weren't thinking 'time' so much as maybe a little outside help?"

 

Evening was fast approaching by the time he found Graham's house, a two-story home with white windows and the exterior freshly-painted in a deep-brown palette. A well-worn swing set stood on the lawn, and a small, tasseled pink bicycle was parked beside the closed doors of the adjacent garage. 

Lee wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, really. Maybe a few human heads mounted on a spear.

He went up to the door and knocked a second time, louder. Some of the indecipherable noise from inside the house paused. Upon hearing footsteps, he took a few steps back just as the door swung open to reveal Graham, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, a streak of yellow paint and glitter across one cheek, and a puzzled, highly-suspicious frown.

"Pace. What do you want?"

"You have someth - actually, nevermind. Do you have a moment? It's about the Freeman case."

Graham hesitated, glancing behind him at the interior of the house. He closed the door and descended the stone steps leading from the entrance to join Lee in the middle of the path. "Why aren't you talking to Richard?"

"It's complicated."

"Try me."

"We believe there's a second knife." Lee frowned as Graham took his phone out of his side pocket and flipped it open. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Richard."

"Nononono! You can't - will you just stop and hear me out first?!"

"Give me One. Good. Reason." Graham placed the receiver to his ear. "The last time I let you talk, it nearly cost me my license."

"There's no need to exaggerate." At the stormy look building on Graham's face, he quickly added, "If what we know pulls through, there's going to be some fallout in the local police force, and I'm sure you'd rather your cop buddies are considered part of the solution than the problem."

Graham frowned. "What fallout?"

"Phone?"

Graham glared at him, looking like he was weighing his options, completely unmindful of how Lee's heart was climbing straight up his throat with each passing second that cell phone's line was open. A short while after, Richard's deep voice, filtered through waves of static as it was, could be heard: "Hello? Graham?"

Lee knew he'd won him over when Graham narrowed his eyes and released an unhappy little growl. "My daughter says hi," he replied, after which he canceled the call and flipped the phone closed. He pointed the thing threateningly at Lee. "Don't make me regret this. You were saying about a second knife?"

Lee went over the bare bones of what Dean's team had uncovered, skipping over sensitive details and things Graham had no business knowing (or things Lee had no business blabbing to an ex-cop with close friends still on the force and happily arresting people). He also gave him the two photograph copies Adam had deemed Graham-safe, waiting patiently as the other man quietly read through the fine notes on the edges of the white borders.

Graham looked up from his perusal to fix Lee with a heavy glare. "Don't move," he said. With photographs in hand, he climbed up the steps again and went back into his house.

Five minutes passed. Then another five. And another. Lee's legs were starting to protest, and he contemplated the relative comforts offered by the rough, hard steps on the ground, or the sturdy-looking swing set in the middle of the lawn. He mentally shrugged and headed over to the swings, choosing the wider-seated black one for himself and just letting it idly sway while he composed a text message to Dean.

"You're in my seat."

Lee looked up in surprise, fingers frozen in mid-type. In front of him stood a small girl, he was guessing around seven years of age, maybe - possibly younger. Hair blonde, eyes blue, wearing a pastel-colored outfit with a fluffy, multi-layered skirt. Her thin arms were wrapped around a plush Wreck-It Ralph doll, and she was giving Lee a glare that was an eerie echo of the one he'd been exposed to just half an hour ago.

"Am I?" He wasn't really up to moving, since the other two swings were narrower than the middle one. He flashed a wide smile at her instead, and said, "You're a girl and you have such a pretty dress on, don't you want to use the pink one instead?"

Lee had never seen a seven-year-old look so offended.

"Erm...sorry." He obediently shifted over to the pink swing.

She kept her glare on him while she wordlessly seated herself. When it was clear he wasn't going to do anything but smile, she relaxed, placed her doll beside her, and began to swing in earnest.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Honor."

"That's a pretty name," Lee said, with a lopsided grin. _Graham, you ninny._ "Like a Disney Princess."

Her eyes grew wide. She abruptly stopped swinging. "I love Disney!"

"So do I!" Lee said, but amended, "Well, I wasn't much of a fan before. But I really like it now. Good memories... you know." Her answering smile, full of open optimism and delight, said she knew. He grinned wider. He honestly didn't see what the big deal was with babies, but _kids._ Kids were just downright adorable. "I think we can be good friends, you and I."

 

"...Afterwards, he wouldn't even answer my texts." He nodded when her mouth dropped open to form an indignant "O." "Yeah, not a single one."

"After a _Disney movie_?!"

"It's weird, right? I couldn't believe it either."

Her little brows were drawn together, giving her a deeply perplexed look. She looked so much like Graham when she frowned. "And you were just, and you were just _watching_. It's not like you kissed!"

Lee gaped at her and held a hand to his chest. "That's what _I_ said!"

She rolled her eyes. "He's _so_ weird."

"I _know_." Lee sighed and slumped on his swing. He looked at her again and asked, earnestly, "What do you think I should do?"

Her lips twisted into odd shapes while she bowed her head and considered this, with all the seriousness of a McTavish presented with a life-or-death situation. Her eyes, when she raised them back up, were filled with an intense, determined light. "Don't worry. I'll help you."

That said, she hopped off the swing, ran for the door, went back, grabbed her toy, ran back to the door, and vanished into the house.

Graham's rough voice rang from somewhere near the entrance, "What are you - get back to bed!"

" _No_ Daddy, I'm doing something _important!_ "

"No yelling in the house!" a second female voice yelled, one that Lee guessed belonged to Graham's wife. The door opened and closed, Graham emerging with something held in one hand. 

Lee gestured in the general direction of the house when Graham was close enough. "Sweet kid-"

"Stay away from her."

"...'Kay."

Graham shoved the piece of paper into Lee's hand. "I know you lot are going to spy in anyway, so tell your investigator to monitor this radio frequency in five days, 12 pm onwards. If I catch any of you listening in on cell phone conversations, though -"

"We leave those alone." _Sometimes._ He didn't control what Dean chose to do, and he often didn't ask.

"So long as you don't interfere. This matter is delicate enough as it is."

Before parting, Graham gave Lee a half-hearted invitation to join them for dinner, which was politely declined with a knowing smirk - he knew the look of a man who'd been forced by his wife to extend a courtesy. He took a minute longer on the swing to relay a few details to Dean, feeling the night around him deepen, and hoping that Martin and Amanda could hang on for just a week or two longer before anything started to break.

 

Lee woke up the next day with the solid conviction that today should be a weekend, considering the amount of legwork he'd had to do the day prior. This resulted in him arriving late for work, people asking him if he was hung over, and a brief foray into murderous thoughts when his assistant waylaid him before he could reach the blessed pot of freshly-brewed coffee. Lee's expression was all that was needed for him to skip the pleasantries and tell him that Graham had left an envelope for him.

"We had it scanned for explosives and the like, it's perfectly safe," volunteered Bret. "Ian ordered it. Mr. McTavish looked pretty pissed off when he left it here." Lee thanked him, stared at him until he skedaddled, took a small cup of espresso and made his way over to his desk. He silently waved goodbye to his plans of spending the rest of his work day hiding out on the rooftop and avoiding everyone.

The envelope was actually _glued_ shut, and not very neatly at that. It was the only time Lee found a use for the letter opener given to him by one of his previous clients. Within was a folded piece of thick cardboard, kept pressed together by a length of transparent tape. Once that was removed, he unfolded it and stared.

"Bret," he called, after he was done laughing, "I need you to make a delivery."


	5. Chapter 5

An overcast Wednesday found him and Ian spending their lunch break on the roof, Lee having been there for two hours already before Ian joined him. He'd taken his work with him for just that reason, but his boss had snuck up on him while he was playing a noisy match-three game on his phone instead of handling the pile of paperwork beside him. The talking-to regarding his declining work ethic was long and painful. 

On the plus side, the older man had brought lunch. Empty styrofoam containers joined the abandoned pile of papers, formerly containing fragrant cream cheese wontons and rotisserie chicken from their own exemplary cafeteria. 

"Nesbitt said something interesting to me a while back," Lee ventured as he wiped his mouth on a piece of white napkin. "He said you're grooming me to replace you."

"Did he?" Ian said. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I feel like you should be paying me a lot more is how I feel about that."

Ian huffed. "We pay you plenty. We would probably consider paying you more if you didn't have this muddled thing going on with Cate's most valued ASA."

Lee's grin held a bit of shyness. "I want to say 'he's worth it,' but I don't know that, really. I just like him."

"Oh, now, that's just nauseating."

"You can't poke your nose into my romantic life and then complain when I actually talk about it."

"'And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods; Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.'"

"You know I dropped Shakespeare in university." Lee joined Ian at the edge of the wall, leaning his arms on the chest-high metal railing and staring out across the ocean of other high-rise buildings in their view. 

"Yet you know enough about it to know that it's Shakespeare."

"Only because it's _always_ Shakespeare with you."

Ian chuckled. "How's that going, by the way?"

"How's that _'going'_?" Lee asked, sardonic. "It's not. What gave you the impression that it was ever going anywhere?"

"Excuse me?"

They both turned. Richard stood just past the awning leading to the roof, at the top of the stairs, looking a hundred fucking thousand dollars above Lee's pay grade. Again. Not the casual attire Lee much preferred to see him in, but sporting a tux and coat ensemble that looked more expensive than Lee's fairly new car.

It made Lee think of the Nesbitt-Armitage photo spreads that used to be all over the high brow magazines, and he found himself wanting to run his hand through that perfectly-combed hair just to botch it up.

Ian gave Lee a look that said, _"I rest my case."_

"I was told Mr. Pace would be here. I don't mean to intrude..." Richard continued, looking uncertainly from one man to the other.

"Richard! You're looking marvelous today. Come, join us," Ian called out with a beckoning gesture. When Richard was closer, he said, "How's Cate? Still making a lucky man out of her husband?"

That earned a polite laugh. "She's doing well. I haven't seen her often, actually, she's been too busy with the Justices this month."

"Has she." Lee glanced over at Ian, detecting something in his tone, but all he found was a well-rehearsed, pleasant smile. The one he'd learned to emulate when there was something he wanted to hide from the police. Or his mother. "You'll let her know I said hello, won't you?"

Richard nodded politely. "I will. If the two of you are busy, I can return later-"

"Nonsense. I was about to head out to Kircher's." Ian pushed himself away from the railing and paused beside the prosecutor. He leaned in and spoke in a low, mock-conspiratorial tone, "Lee has been disinclined from socializing recently, maybe you can cure him of that." Louder, he said, with a cheeky smile thrown at his employee, "Good day, gentlemen."

Lee muttered "meddling coot" under his breath once Ian was out of sight. Richard gave a small laugh. "You're lucky with Sir Ian. Believe me when I say you don't want Cate meddling in your personal affairs."

"Can't be any worse than being quoted Shakespearean love sonnets and made to feel like the disappointing son he never had," Lee said. At Richard's expression, he added, "Can it?"

Richard replied, with a pained look, "I guess it depends on your definition of 'worse.' That also sounds pretty bad. She's very...blunt. And pointed with her questions. It makes telling her about your personal life feel like reciting your own rap sheet."

"Why do we let them boss us around like this?"

"Because they're supposedly wiser." A pause before Richard continued, with a helpless shrug, "And they sign our paychecks."

"Right." Lee thought about the upscale flat he'd been drooling over for months and sighed.

Richard approached, standing near the spot Ian had vacated just a moment ago. "'Disinclined from socializing'?" he repeated, with a close approximation of Ian's accent. "I hope that's not because of me."

"No. But even if it were, I wouldn't tell you." Lee turned to fully face Richard, leaving one arm resting against the metal bar. "So what brings you here?"

The way Richard averted his gaze to the floor gave Lee the impression that this matter was going to be delicate. He waited patiently, observing the way the bleak lighting from the overcast sky softened the creases around the other man's eyes. Lee tried not to mind so much that Richard seemed to be addressing the cement under their feet when he said, "You have Graham doing something."

"What makes you say that?"

"You visit his house, and now something at the precinct is suddenly occupying his time."

Lee frowned, his mind frantically trying to recall how he'd let that little bit of information slip. "I didn't vis-"

His words petered out. Richard was withdrawing something from his coat - a familiar piece of folded illustration board. He smoothed it out in front of Lee and gave him a look, much like he had when he'd seen the writing on the jumper Lee had lent him before. 

Lee kept his laughter firmly behind pressed lips, noticing that Richard had kept the short, handwritten note he'd tacked on the upper-left corner. ("According to a respected and reliable authority on Disney movies, you are breaking all of the following!") His eyes skimmed across the bright, glittery words:

_**OFFICIAL RULES WHEN WATCHING DISNEY MOVIES**  
#1 AFTER WATCHING DISNEY MOVIES TOGETHER, ONLY USE FIRST NAMES  
#2 DON'T TRY TO ACT COOL AGAIN, EVERYONE WILL KNOW JUST AXEPT IT  
#3 WHOEVER YOU WATCH A DISNEY MOVIE WITH IS YOUR FRIEND (NO TAKESIES BACKSIES)  
#4 ALWAYS ANSWER DISNEY BUDDIES TEXTS. DISNEY IS ALL ABOUT FRIENDSHIP  
#5 DON'T BE MEAN TO EACH OTHER THAT'S HOW THE BAD GUYS GET YOU  
#6 IF YOU CAN'T FOLLOW 1-5 DON'T WATCH A DISNEY MOVIE YOU SHOULD WATCH SESAME STREET INSTEAD AND LEARN THE BASICS   
#7 SIX IS UNLUCKY, SEVEN FOR GOOD LUCK YOU'RE WELCOME_

"My goddaughter has a very distinct, slanted, rainbow 'D,'" Richard clarified, with an amused smile.

 _Goddaughter._ Of course. Went right alongside having a fake nephew, on some level. "Fair enough." Lee pointed at two of the listed items. "I think rules 1 and 4 are my favorite."

Richard folded the cardboard again and returned it to his inner coat pocket. His tone was grim when he asked, "Is it dangerous?"

"No," Lee replied. Then thought about it. "Well..." He caught sight of Richard's sudden, deeply-worried expression and quickly clarified, "I'm not sure. I don't think so?"

"Mr. Pace."

He gave a helpless shrug. "I don't think it's anything he can't handle."

Richard nodded and said, after a while, "And he's not telling me anything because it's harmful to my case."

"Potentially."

Richard gave another slight nod. 

The silence grew and became strained. Richard shifted in a way that made Lee think he was about to bolt at any second. He gestured vaguely towards his coat. "Gonna burn that? Can't imagine Graham was too pleased to know you have it."

Richard half-smiled. "He doesn't know. I plan to have this framed, hide it away for ten years, and show it to her again in front of her trendy teenage friends and see what she has to say for herself." He patted the portion of his coat where he'd stored the cardboard. "Maybe include a naked baby picture or two. I haven't decided."

Lee gave a surprised laugh. "That's evil. You're evil."

"Not much fun, waging revenge on someone who can't even spell it yet," Richard said, with a one-shouldered shrug. "At any rate, I should get going-"

"Where to, exactly?" Lee interrupted quickly, hoping Richard would stay for just a minute or two longer. Or an hour. He wasn't picky. "You look a million dollars today."

There was an embarrassed quality to the way Richard lightly scratched his nose. "A benefit. You've been there, actually - Rivendell Hall. We were at the same function there, once."

"Yes," Lee said, with an awkward, fond smile, "I remember."

Kind of hard to forget, considering Richard had almost frozen his fingers off that night. Rivendell Hall had been built upon ground that had seen numerous homicides, gunfights, and human rights rallies, which made it perfect as a sort of central hub for important elbow-rubbing events. Government officials of the higher echelon and drug cartel owners alike treated it as consecrated ground. Their very own Hugo Weaving had purchased it and paid for the construction of the hall, which he'd then donated to the city as a sign of good will - and for the good press that followed, which, post-split with Ms. Blanchett, had been sorely needed.

It was around a year ago when Lee had been required to attend a city charity arranged by the governor, right after a series of big cases Ian had been hauling him through for experience. He didn't mind such things, but it was the fifth event Ian had declared mandatory, and it was starting to wear him down. Not that his boss cared - after hesitantly giving voice to a plea for rest, Lee was summarily jammed into three new sets of tuxedos, shoes, and sparkly cufflinks, and he didn't at all feel like himself.

He dutifully stayed for an hour, after which his request to Ian to be let off early was denied. Three hours later, he figured a repetition of his begging might just be annoying enough to get him what he wanted. But Ian was nowhere to be found, and Lee spent the next half hour realizing how big the Hall actually was and how well his employer could hide himself if he was determined to remain unseen.

During his search, he went through a couple of turns in a corridor, got lost, and became aware of the utter lack of people in that part of the Hall. It was when he was trying to retrace his steps that he stumbled across a set of double transparent doors leading to an open-air balcony. Through the glass, he had an unhindered view of Richard sitting alone on a bench, nursing a glass half-full of wine.

It was an unexpected sight, mostly because, until now, Richard had been keeping an extremely low profile and had been absent from all forms of public events. Lee had mostly been seeing his face on television, and those were just the same old clips the news stations loved to reuse whenever Nesbitt was the topic of conversation again. 

"Hi," he called out, immediately noticing the bite in the air as soon as he pushed open a door, "Richard. Sorry to bother, but I was wondering if you've seen Ian?"

He must have pulled Richard away from some deep thoughts, as he looked, at first, confused, and then surprised to find company in so secluded a place. "I'm afraid not," he quietly said, with an apologetic smile. "Although you might want to try the southwest wing. Cate likes to go there when she wants to speak in private."

"Right. Thanks."

He felt uneasy, leaving him there. But he had no reason to stay, and Richard looked like he wanted to be alone, so he returned to his search.

Finding Ian (in the southwest wing, as helpfully suggested) didn't have the resolution he'd been hoping for. Ian was speaking with a visiting UN director, the French ambassador, and the governor. Lee had been successful in not making any sudden moves, but Ian had caught sight of him before he could safely back away. What followed next was forty minutes of idle chatter, artificial flattery, and forced laughter. 

He'd been complimenting the ambassador on a picture of his lovely daughter, when he overheard two people behind them talking about the unfortunate weather, and how the sudden snow was going to make the roads difficult that night.

Worry niggled in his mind, but it was still the better part of ten minutes before he could extricate himself cleanly from the small gathering. He ignored Ian's disapproving glare and made his way back to the maze that was the western corridors.

His instincts were right - Richard was still there, still in the same seat, still holding the same amount of wine, except it was paired with his cell phone clutched in his right hand. He had something of a perplexed look on his face, but Lee wasn't certain of the cause.

He hadn't made the connection at the time, but the function had been during winter, and the date had been January 15.

He wondered, now, if Richard had been expecting a call, if he'd _received_ a call, or if he had been contemplating calling. Back then, all he could see was the snow peppering Richard's hair and eyelashes, and a man looking like he would be content to stay there forever if the world would just leave him alone long enough to do so.

"Richard?" he called again, ignoring the feeling that he was intruding into something private. "Come inside. I think I heard Ms. Blanchett looking for you earlier."

Richard gave him a half-hearted smile. "Cate left an hour ago."

Lee rocked on the balls of his feet and crossed his arms tight over his chest. Shit, it was cold. "Come inside anyway."

"I will soon." Then, like an afterthought: "Thank you."

Lee nodded and, after an uncertain glance, closed the door behind him again. 

It was 10 pm when Ian finally let him off the hook, and only because Lee had lost patience and started asking him if he could go home now in front of illustrious _guests_. From the look on Ian's face, he had no doubt that They Would Have Words Later. He had been on his way out when the nagging suspicion reasserted itself, and he went to the western corridors to seek out the path that led to the open balcony.

The phone was nowhere in sight this time, and the wineglass, empty, had been abandoned on the snow-dusted bench. Richard was leaning with his front against the low wall and staring across the wide array of buildings. Oblivious, it seemed, to how the tips of his hair were beginning to stick to his neck and ears, and how his skin was already sporting an unhealthy flush from the intense outdoor temperature.

" _Please_ come inside," Lee begged, mindful of how he must sound like a broken record. Richard had that distracted look about him again, like he was rousing from a dream. "It's ass-freezing degrees out here, and you look nice and all, but that can't possibly count as winter wear."

Richard looked utterly confused with everything Lee was saying. He hesitantly brushed his hand across the top of his head, a deep frown settling on his lips when his hand came away covered with dislodged clumps of wet, half-melted snow. "It's cold," he said, sounding amazed.

 _Doofus._ Lee gestured frantically towards the interior of the hall. "Yes, it is!"

"Shit. It's _really_ cold."

"Jesus. Come _inside_. Now, please? Stop making me beg."

He made room for Richard to pass through, shivering himself as the gust of icy air tickled his skin. Quickly, he closed the door behind him, turning in time to see Richard breathing out fog and divesting himself of his outer jacket.

"God, your hands..." Lee unwrapped his scarf from around his neck. Richard looked down, frowning, curling his fingers a bit to observe the blue-tinged tips. 

"Oh."

Carefully, Lee bundled his scarf beneath the chilled hands, keeping the palms up, while trying to recall what little he knew about frostbite and hoping that that _wasn't_ the case here, discolored fingers or no. 

"Don't trouble yourself..." Richard was saying, but his voice tapered off when Lee bent forward and brought the cupped palms close to his face. He breathed warmth onto the chilled hands, hearing Richard's faint "oh," and noting the way those shockingly cold nails lightly scraped against his chin. 

He lowered Richard's hands and pressed them together, his own hands rubbing vigorously against the scarf covering fingers to wrists. "Who the hell forgets that it's snowing," he muttered to himself. Louder, he said, "You're lucky your fingers haven't fallen off."

He looked up briefly to see Richard watching their joined hands. 

"Yes. I see that," Richard eventually said, tugging his hands back with a slight smile and a nod of thanks.

 _Maybe that had been it,_ Lee thought as he watched Richard now, dressed once again in something expensive and about to spend the next few hours socializing with the rich and powerful. He had a feeling he'd been hooked and strung along from way before that. Every time Richard was in the room, Lee was aware of where he was standing and what he was doing. Still, that moment had lodged itself into Lee's brain, something about it unforgettable - no choir bells, no penny drops, no angels singing in the background. Just the sensation of Richard's cold skin against his thumb, and the fear of those beautiful hands falling prey to injury. 

Days after that first Rivendell Hall event, he'd thought of sleeping around some when he realized his predicament - old flames, one night stands, maybe a stripper or two. Lee wasn't in the habit of casual encounters, but he knew the good places to go for them, the safe ones that didn't babble on pain of lifetime imprisonment. It wasn't good when you were hooked on a guy for his smile, for his quiet laughter, for the sad look in his eyes, and he'd wanted to exorcise it all away.

It had been a short, shameful period - couldn't have been more than a month. The most he'd managed was catching up with old exes for a few nights. He hadn't needed someone to slap him upside the head to stop. 

A comfortable silence settled between them - he had a feeling that Richard was recalling that same night, much as he did. Richard placed both arms on the wall and leaned into them, his eyes scanning the city lights slowly coming alive as dusk began to fall. The wind ruffled his hair, causing it to whip across his eyes and forehead, and Lee knew that it would be combed to a knife's edge state of perfection once Richard was on his way to that function. But for now, he was left to enjoy the view, happily recalling how his hair had been in similar disarray while he'd been sleeping in Lee's bed not too long ago. 

The lull in conversation gained a loaded edge, almost like a question that Lee was far from prepared to answer. He wanted to be that guy in those movies, who always knew the right things to say when that perfect moment came to get the other person to really _look_ at him and see everything that he was, and everything that he was offering. Because Lee was starting to suspect that _this_ was one of those moments, that he'd just been gifted that chance without so much as a warning sign, and now he was screwing everything up by being quiet.

"Stay awhile," Lee urged, hoping to buy some time. His eyes tracked the way Richard ducked his head, shy or avoidant, the way his hands began to fidget as if they didn't know what to do with themselves. _It's not just me, then._ "I doubt they'd mind if you're a little late."

It was a tense few seconds before Richard shook his head. "I can't. But thank you for offering."

And then Richard was pushing away from the wall, nodding politely at Lee, and walking back to the stairwell leading away from the roof. 

 

Two days later, Lee received a text message from Dean: _They have him. Evidence destroyed, but he's being interrogated now_.

No sooner had news erupted in the local media about the aborted cover-up than Richard slapped Lee with a motion to suppress all newly-uncovered evidence on the grounds of illicit and unreliable sources. The argument in the judge's chambers had been one of the most heated Lee could remember ever having against the prosecutor. At one point, the shady history of McKellen-Weaving had been brought into play - previous board reviews on the senior partners regarding charges of systematized perjury and tampered evidence, all of which had been dismissed, but most of which were compelling enough to give Judge Jackson some pause.

It felt a little _too_ personal. Richard had never used the firm's troubled history as leverage in his arguments before. In the end, his motion was denied, and Lee's request to submit new evidence within the week prior to the next trial date was granted.

Lee wanted to call out to Richard when they left the chamber, but the prosecutor's mood remained closed off and cheerless. There were no words of parting - just a swift, curt nod to Lee, and an equally swift exit. 

_He's not fucking Nesbitt, Richard._ Lee held no doubt that Richard wanted Martin behind bars, whether it was for murder or some other technicality. He'd received word from Dean just a moment ago that they had gotten a confession out of Sergeant Evans, but he wasn't about to relax his guard. Richard had a way of arguing things in court that made everything else seem like a lie.

The strange thing was, Lee wasn't exactly sure himself. Martin could just be a really good liar - he'd met enough of those to know that no amount of gut feeling could accurately predict a well-executed deception. But he'd seen Martin and Amanda together in a way Richard hadn't, and if Richard saw more of Nesbitt in Martin from afar, well, maybe it stung a little. Because Lee could only really see a bit of himself in the way Martin would touch Amanda's cheek, or the way he'd hug her close. 

Lee sighed and tried, in vain, to massage a blossoming migraine away. _This fucking case._ He couldn't wait for it to be over.

 

He didn't need to wait long, apparently. 

Sgt. Luke Evans still held a torch for Evangeline Lily even though they'd parted several years ago, marking the end of a five-year relationship. He related how she had called him in a panic from a disposable phone after having stabbed her abusive boyfriend a few times in the chest, and he proceeded to give her instructions regarding the removal of incriminating evidence: strict directions on how to remove the embedded knife, how to replace it with a new one that didn't have her prints on it, and the location to go to so she could dump the old knife and her bloody clothes which he would "take care of later."

It wasn't enough, however. Lee sent Dean a message with a set of instructions to be carried out as soon as possible, hanging on to the hope that the vestiges of affection Luke still had for Evangeline were not one-sided. 

The holes in his testimony and the way it didn't account for when Martin arrived at the scene, as well as the supposed affair with Evangeline Lily, were fodder for Richard's impassioned arguments during trial. Lee had been in the middle of his fourth objection and was exchanging indignant words with the prosecutor, when Judge Jackson interrupted the proceedings and reported that he'd received word that Evangeline Lily had just submitted a signed confession.

The look of pure shock on Richard's face had been priceless. His case steadily fell apart over the next few days, though after that little revelation, Richard didn't really seem like he was putting up much of a fight anymore. Evangeline took responsibility for arranging the timing and evidence to coincide with Martin's arrival late that afternoon, and for concocting the affair to provide him with motive for the crime.

Charges against Martin were dropped. A new case against Evangeline was being arranged by the prosecution, and the couple celebrated the news with a desperate, tear-filled hug as soon as the gavel struck the sounding block. 

Richard had lingered for that, Lee noticed, a reluctant smile tugging on his lips as they both watched husband and wife cling to each other and block out the world around them. (Lee was very much looking forward to singing the "you were _so_ wrong" tune in Richard's office later.)

Ian held a small celebration at their offices for Lee's first prominent solo victory that lasted late into the night - complete with catering, music, and impromptu uncorking of expensive bottles of fine vintage. The first surprise of the evening came when Lee approached Ian's office, fully intent on reporting every brilliant detail of how the case had been won as a precursor to asking for a raise. He figured a second time wasn't bordering on too pushy just yet, especially with Ian possibly being agreeably drunk.

His "Evening, Ian" was abruptly cut short when he opened the door to find Catherine Blanchett, looking otherwordly-sorts of fabulous in a white cutaway dress. She was sitting cross-legged on Ian's desk as if it was the most comfortable thing one could do in tight clothes and stiletto heels.

Ian was at his usual place, leaning back in his chair and looking relaxed, his tie unknotted and the first two buttons of his shirt loosened. Two wineglasses sat between them, ignored, and they both diverted their full attention towards Lee as soon as he entered. 

"The man of the hour," Cate said while idly rocking one leg, her toes playfully dangling a dislodged shoe and letting it swing back and forth. The amount of flawless leg Lee was suddenly confronted with was a little blinding. "I believe congratulations are in order."

"Er...thanks. Ms. Cate Blanchett." Lee wasn't quite sure how to present himself. It was like coming across a mythical creature while still in one's pajamas. 

Cate looked him over, assessing. Every inch of Lee's skin prickled as soon as her eyes swept across that area. He firmly stomped down on the overwhelming urge to shiver. "We have a vacancy at the prosecutor's office, maybe you'd like to consider joining us?"

Ian frowned and waved his hand in the air. "I'm right here, you know."

"Thanks," Lee said, with a weak laugh, "but-"

"You'd be closer to Richard," Cate interrupted in a playful sing-song voice, with a small laugh. "At least proximity-wise."

Ian made a disgusted noise. "Did you honestly just dangle one of your brightest ASAs like a carrot on a string?"

Cate grinned at him over her shoulder. "I know what my assets are. And I imagine it's much easier to _woo_ someone if you get to see them everyday."

Lee haltingly raised a finger. "I'm not... uh..."

"And much harder to do so if he can't even afford to buy him dinner," interrupted Ian. "Which is how Lee will end up with your starting salary."

"Oh, I'm sure we can come up with a tempting enough offer for our dear Mr. Pace here." Cate returned her full attention to him with a sugary-sweet smile. 

Lee blushed.

Ian's laughter filled the room. "Vile temptress. Away with you!" He made mock-shooing motions, which had Cate removing herself from Ian's desk, a good-natured smile on her lips. "If you're going to poach my employees, at least do it outside of my office."

"Oh, you'd know either way." Cate took a moment to properly slip back into her stray footwear. "I'm not joking though, Mr. Pace - contact me as soon as you decide you wish to belong to the legitimate side of the law, will you?"

Lee blubbered something vague. Cate paused at the doorway and said, "Ian. Let's talk later, shall we?" After waving off an offer from Ian for someone to escort her home, she left the office, with one last, meaningful look at Lee. 

"Just so we're clear," Ian said, as soon as the door closed, "if you so much as think of calling her about that job offer-"

"I won't. Really." Lee coughed and cleared his throat - his voice had broken somewhere. "Apart from the low salary, she kind of frightens me a little."

"Well. I'm glad I've inspired the right sort of loyalty in you."

"Is everything all right? I've never seen her visit in the years I've been here. Ever."

"Yes, yes. Just a few inconsequential matters with the governor. Now _you_ ," he clapped Lee on the shoulder, "well done. Very well done. Dean works for _you_ now, by the way. Anything you ask of him, he'll prioritize . But we can go over the details on that later - I imagine you'd wish to celebrate tonight?"

"Actually, I'd like to go back to what you mentioned earlier about salaries-"

"Elijah! You made it! If you'll excuse me, Lee..."

 _No salary bump, then,_ Lee thought, as he sadly watched Ian saunter away. It had been a stretch, but he had actually been hopeful.

He spent the rest of the night going over some of the remaining paperwork regarding Mr. Freeman's release, and separating some of the files for when the prosecutor's office asked for them later in relation to Evangeline Lily's separate trial. It was well into the night, and deep into his third glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, when he received a text message from Dean:

_I think you should go to Richard's office._

He frowned at the odd message. After a quick look at his watch, he replied: _It's 12:30 am._

Seconds later, Dean sent: _Yep. And he's still there._


	6. Chapter 6

The walk to Richard's office was a little creepy, and for the most part went the way Lee imagined a lawyer-slash-chainsaw-massacre movie could start. The entire ground floor was barely lit, with the exception of one whole length of a corridor, which wasn't lit _at all_ , and had Lee clutching his phone for dear life with the emergency hotline ready on speed dial. He thanked the elevator gods for the lack of music during the ride. Once he reached Richard's floor, he breathed a little easier - the lighting was much better, and it helped that there seemed to be some sort of celebration on the floor above. Faint chatter and music permeated through the walls. He made his way to Richard's office, which was situated on the eastern side (not very large, but great view of the city). His door was the only one emanating a soft glow - all the others in that section were closed for the night. 

He knocked politely on the misted glass. When no reply seemed forthcoming, he pushed the door open. 

The glow was coming from one lit reading lamp on the desk, casting most of everything else in shadow. Richard was easy enough to spot, half-lying on the couch placed flush against the wide glass window facing the city. His feet lay on the cushions with his knees drawn up. A bottle of wine was being carefully cradled against his chest. 

His suit jacket hung on his desk chair, and his tie had been unknotted and draped loosely around his shoulders. Lee's entrance was met with resounding silence.

"I just wanted to see how you were," Lee uncertainly said from the doorway. 

"At past midnight?" Richard asked, sounding faintly amused. There was a roughness to his voice that rang alarm bells in Lee's head. 

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Someone told me you were still up." When Richard didn't say anything else, he tilted his head a bit to the side, peering at the averted face. "Did something happen?"

It was an uncomfortable while later when Richard spoke again. "Graham told me," he said, slowly, his words a little slurred, "that Amanda consulted with your Mr. Hunter this afternoon."

Stephen Hunter. Family law. 

"Aw, shit."

Richard nodded and laughed, the self-deprecating sound grating in Lee's ears. "You were right. I ruined a perfectly happy marriage."

Lee held up a hand. "Not what I said. I said 'strained.' You didn't ruin anything."

"I shouldn't have been anywhere near this case. Cate did warn me."

"You're jumping to the worst conclusion. Might have just been a consultation." Richard huffed. Lee persisted, taking a few steps closer. "I'm serious. People approach Stephen about divorce all the time, he says only about twenty percent actually go through with it."

"Please don't patronize me."

"I didn't mean to." An apology got stuck on his lips. Lee didn't feel much like apologizing at the moment, not with Richard in this state. "They just need time," he said, reasonably. "It's the case. When they cool off and they've talked this through, things will be okay."

"You don't know that."

Lee shrugged. "I have a good feeling about those two." He waited a beat before saying, "Stop flattering yourself. You didn't do that much damage."

Richard gave a weak laugh. He raised the bottle, as if about to take a sip, hesitated, then extended the tip towards Lee instead. 

_Hell, why not?_ Lee motioned towards the portion of the couch mostly occupied by Richard's mile-long legs. "May I?" That led to some ridiculous-looking scooting from the other man, who made enough room for Lee to sit normally. Lee took a swig from the offered bottle, feeling the burn immediately from lips to throat and managing to halt the threat of a coughing fit in time. "Strong stuff," he muttered, and spun the bottle around to look at the label.

"The Laird," Richard mentioned helpfully when Lee continued to gape at it.

"Huh." He took another swig. Passing the bottle back to Richard had them touching fingers, but it was too brief to be taken as anything more. Lee leaned his weight onto Richard's legs so he could better face the other man, with a silent apology to a certain part of his anatomy about the crotch-to-ass proximity. His eyes tracked Richard's adam's apple as the latter took a hard swallow from the quickly emptying bottle of Torbreck wine. 

Maybe it was the three glasses of Cabernet earlier, or the fact that he'd just taken two swigs from a $700 bottle of wine like it was cheap swill - Lee lifted the fingers of Richard's left hand, which had been relaxed on the couch cushions near his hips, and stroked his thumb across the strong knuckles. 

Richard sighed. Lee felt his own fingers held in a warm clasp. 

"Given enough thought to those Disney rules yet?" he asked. Richard's skin against his was doing nothing to calm his imagination, but he struggled to convince himself that this was neither the time nor place. 

"'All about friendship,' was it?" Richard managed to dryly say.

"I can't promise I won't try for anything more if the opportunity presents itself." Lee had been aiming for playful, but the look Richard was giving him made him feel terrible about it. He felt Richard try to pull his hand away, but Lee didn't let him, gripping tighter. "Look - I get it. I get that if Nesbitt shows up now, unattached, and begs for you to go with him, you'd go. But I can't help it that I want to kiss you when I look at you, or that I wish you'd let me hold your hand a bit."

"I think of kissing you sometimes."

Lee's mouth dropped open. He couldn't gauge Richard's expression, those blue eyes still turned away from him, but the grip on his hand tightened a little. "Um..."

"Usually right after I wish you'd leave me the fuck alone."

Lee felt a tug of guilt - Richard sounded so tired. He gave a weak laugh and said, while lightly running his thumb across the back of Richard's hand, "Can't. Not when you do shit like this. Drinking some stupidly expensive wine, by yourself, in your office, in the middle of the night. How many of those can you go through before passing out?" _Or going broke?_ his traitorous mind suggested. Because, honestly, $700? "Or when you stare at your phone for so long, you forget that it's fucking snowing and nearly freeze your own fingers off - oh shit, sorry..."

Lee's brow furrowed, his other hand rising to grip Richard's arm, but thinking better of it and landing, useless, on the cushion instead. Richard had placed his palm over his mouth, eyes closed tight, and this time, when he tried to pull his hand away, Lee didn't stop him. 

"Sorry," he repeated, helplessly, watching Richard's arm fold tight against his chest. "I didn't mean to...that was _supposed_ to make you feel better-"

"Shut up."

"Okay, shutting up." Although he didn't quite see how that helped either, what with Richard still upset, and Lee with his hands figuratively tied and wishing he'd known to stop talking earlier. It was no different from when he'd been driving his car, and could only watch as Richard yelled at his phone and huddled against the car window. Except here, he was stuck watching him try to control his breathing, the back of his hand staying hovered over his face, occasionally sliding over a corner of his lips. "No, honestly, can I - what can I do? I feel terrible."

He tried, again, when Richard didn't reply. "You can't be like this and expect me to just watch."

The skin on the back of his neck and arms prickled when Richard slid his hand over his nape. Richard pulled him close, and the warmth of his breath briefly registered in Lee's mind before he felt soft, thin lips pressing against his.

It was a shy brush at first, but Lee eagerly leaned forward and captured Richard's lower lip. The kiss was full of distractions - Richard's eyelashes fluttering against his heated skin, the wet noises filling the too-quiet room, the salty taste of tears mixed with alcohol. His right hand slid over a strong bicep, his left hovered, undecided, at the side of Richard's face, then traced over a slanted ear and raked across perfectly-combed hair. Richard's palm felt heavy and anchoring on his neck - as far as Lee was concerned, it could stay glued there. He drowned in blissful, achingly sweet sensations for a precious handful of seconds, and all he could think of was how much he wanted more. 

Lee thought it was over when they both drew back, the kiss having run its course - he floundered on what to think, what to say (how to breathe). But there was little time for either, as Richard was pressing into him, chasing after his lips and overwhelming Lee all over again. 

And again. And again. His head felt like it was about to explode - there was hardly enough air in his lungs for the low moan he fed into Richard's mouth. He breathed something out - it might have been Richard's name, or "slow down," or "more," he couldn't be sure. He ached for the hint of stubble scraping across his face, and the overloading sensations waiting for his discovery in those half-parted lips.

It took a while for him to realize no more kisses were forthcoming. He opened his eyes, still breathless and hyperaware, as all touches seemed to cease except for the ones he himself maintained. Richard's hand on his neck fell, and he saw the other rise to cover his mouth again (kiss-swollen now, and wet, and possibly bruised in the morning).

Lee scrambled to recall what the fuck he'd just said to make Richard change his mind, but a nagging suspicion began to form - something he would have dismissed, had it not been for the mortified cast in those blue eyes, and the guilty way he avoided Lee's searching gaze.

"Hey," he said into the loaded silence, swallowing down his own disappointment and convincing himself that he _wasn't_ sure, that Richard snapping out of the moment because it was Lee's voice he heard and not someone else's wasn't necessarily the case. "It's okay." _Don't apologize. Please, please don't apologize._

He needn't have worried - Richard didn't seem to be in much condition to say anything. Lee stopped thinking and just drew him in, his hands sliding across a painfully-tensed back, pressing his temple against the crop of mussed, dark hair. Richard's hand had moved to hide his face, and even though he never relaxed into Lee's touch, he didn't draw away either. 

Oddly enough, it was this man that Lee felt he knew. It was this man he thought he could make love to all night and never tire. In his arms, he could feel every tremor of Richard's hitching breath, every shaky exhalation he couldn't contain, and all he could do was wish the hurt away. 

"You're okay," Lee whispered into the dark room. He tightened his arms, and promised himself there would be time to deal with his own mess of emotions later.

 

Lee was fast discovering that Dean working mostly for him was a wonderful, wonderful thing, and, so far, the only favor Dean had asked for was for him to put in a good word with a particularly Irish fake nephew and to maybe ask when they could possibly meet up again. Lee didn't have the heart to tell him that all access roads to that specific highway were currently under construction and in perpetual danger of being closed off, so he just nodded and said he'd do what he could.

He had creepy-levels of detailed reports on everything he could wish for, on top of which (and without having to tell him), Dean had taken it upon himself to keep up with Lee's concerns on a personal level. Which was how he knew that Richard was keeping to his regular routine since that drunken, foolish night, and though he hadn't returned Lee's few inquiries regarding his well-being, he mostly seemed to be fine.

If Richard wanted space, he was going to get space, Lee decided, though he wasn't too thrilled with this pattern of behavior.

He was in the middle of reading up on his new client (broken NDA, multinational corporate whistleblower - he made a mental note to ask Ian about any security adjustments he should be making) when Dean messaged him a bunch of random numbers.

 _Baby got your phone again?_ he texted back.

Seconds later, he received: _Baby says go fuck yourself. That's Richard's one-way flight number due this Monday._

 

Saturday was designated for basic housekeeping chores, but Lee spent most of the morning driving over to Richard's and knocking repeatedly on an unanswered door. He eventually drove off again, figuring he could drop by the grocery and accomplish a handful of things before trying in the afternoon - which he did, only with the same results.

It was two hours later when he received another message from Dean. He rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed, as he read: _He's home. You may want to try now. :)_

As chance would have it, he caught Richard just as he was about to leave again. A nondescript black sports bag lay beside his feet; he had his back to Lee and was fiddling with the front door, possibly with the knob or the security panel. Lee was a mere few meters away when Richard finally turned and spotted him approaching from the street.

As much trouble as Lee usually had reading Richard's face during court sessions, he sometimes seemed like an open book outside of them - wide eyes, a quick nervous swallow, and an aborted move to take a step back closer to the shut door of his house.

 _Nice,_ Lee dryly thought. Made him feel as welcome as a terminal disease. He waved a hand in greeting anyway as soon as he'd turned past the sidewalk and stepped onto the lawn. 

"Hi," Richard said, wary, hands idly playing with a set of keys looped together in a holder. "Sorry, I've just locked up. Did you want to talk?"

"Sure," Lee said, a pleasant smile plastered on his face. He placed his hands in the pockets of his brown jacket. "So, I hear Mondays are perfect for travelling by plane this month."

Richard looked down at the keys he was rolling around in his hands. "Should I even bother asking how you know about that?"

"Not unless you want to start working for Ian." That drew out a slight smile from the other man, at least. "How long?"

"A few months."

Neither said anything for a moment. Before the silence between them could become too uncomfortable, Lee said, "I'm sorry if this is awkward. I know you weren't planning on speaking with me before you left, but I had a feeling that if I didn't come here now - that if I didn't talk to you now, I'd just regret it." He scuffed his shoe against the even pavement. "I'm no good with regrets. People say it's character-building, but it just makes me feel horrible."

"Like you said: it's the case," Richard said. "Things will even out once we've had some time to ourselves."

"Not really." He gave a lopsided smile when Richard raised his eyes. "Not for me. Been two and a half years. Fairly sure a few months isn't going to change anything." 

"...More like eight," Richard said, his tone subdued. "Old professor needs a research assistant on his grant."

 _Eight_ months. Lee's breath briefly caught in his throat. He swallowed, and eventually managed to choke out, "Huh. I was thinking maybe two or three." He felt something in himself numb a little. "And that already seemed too long."

Richard's brows furrowed. "Actually, it's not long _enough._ But it's the longest Cate will allow me to have." He shifted uneasily on his feet, a frown suddenly marring his face. "You're wrong, though. It can't have been more than two years. That would make it..."

Lee's smile was a bit more genuine when Richard's voice trailed off. "I know. Crazy, right?" 

Richard shook his head. "Why? If there's one thing this year has proven, it's that we barely know each other."

" _Because._ " There had been puzzlement in Richard's voice, along with suspicion and disbelief. Lee could feel his frustration building, and he breathed out a loud, bitter sigh. "I don't know what people want to hear when they ask that. It always seemed like a weird question to me. Doesn't it, to you? Like...what are you supposed to say?" He clenched his jaw, feeling helpless and utterly lost, and sure, he could try his luck at it. Just about a million different reasons buzzed in his head, but none of them was that _one_ answer, that one thing that might be able to sweep Richard off his feet and convince him that he wasn't too young, wasn't too different, and that he would rather cut off his own arm than do anything like what Nesbitt did to him two years ago. 

"Because you wear cardigans," he blurted out, with an apologetic, helpless shrug, his hands sweating a little deep inside his jacket pockets. "Because you always put five dollars in that charity can no one pays attention to in Kircher's. Because _Disney princes_ , of all things. Because you have beautiful hands, and I feel really good about myself when you let me hold them. Because your voice does this thing..." 

Lee swallowed past the lump in his throat. Richard wasn't even looking at him anymore, and he felt like he was talking at air. "It does this thing when you're sad, where it goes all deep, and it sounds like you're sobbing, but you're really not. And I've only heard it twice, but that's already twice too many - I have this weird urge to be around you 24/7 to make sure your voice never sounds like that again."

Richard had folded his arms at some point during Lee's rambling, skin flushing a faint red, but his hand had risen to hover near his mouth again, and everything about his stance was making Lee feel worse. "Maybe I do sound young, I don't know. But are there really better reasons, to want to be with someone? Is there some standard I'm not aware of, a user manual I should read...?"

"Please," Richard said, eyes downcast. Embarrassed. And he had every right to be, considering they were in full sight of his neighbors and he'd just been subjected to what must have been the most graceless confession in his entire life. 

Lee rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "It's okay. You probably don't know, either."

He bit his lower lip, watching Richard struggle with what to say, feeling a rising wave of disappointment when the other man just seemed to give up after a while and fixed his eyes on the pavement. There was an odd moment when a burly man pointedly looked at them while he was passing through. Both Lee and Richard stayed deathly silent until he was out of sight.

It was answer enough, he supposed. Lee figured he'd humiliated himself enough for one day. 

"Hell, I'm sorry," he said, forcing casualness into his voice. Richard did look up then, his expression all but yelling "I don't know what you want me to say." Lee wished he could ease the other man's discomfort some, but he couldn't even bring himself to smile right now. "Forget I said anything. Have a good flight. I'll be here when you get back."

Lee's retreat towards his car was uneventful. A small part of him hoped that Richard might call him back or chase after him, but the only sound he heard when he was several feet away was the unmistakable rumbling of an opening garage door.

 

There were more creative ways for a single, employed man to spend a Saturday night in this city, but Lee only had enough energy left in him to lie shirtless on his bed ( _reminder: must do laundry tomorrow, for real this time_ ) and guzzle can after can of ridiculously strong beer. His phone lay on his chest, the screen frozen on a message he'd received from Dean a few hours earlier - _Sorry, mate. He's packing._

Eight fucking months. Perhaps Richard was right, perhaps in that amount of time, things would change for the better. Except every inch of Lee's body was telling him otherwise. He was already missing the wet press of lips, the large hand on his nape. The shy, gorgeous, lovely, fucking blue eyes that were too damn transparent for their own good when they shouldn't be.

 _What if Richard finds someone over there?_

Lee hadn't been quite prepared for the flare of jealousy that very thought caused. He groaned and pressed the bottom of the beer can against his brow.

Something was purring against his chest. He looked down to see his vibrating phone flashing with a new message.

_Sorry. I didn't know how to reply._

Richard. It was from Richard.

He stared at it for who knew how long, his thumb resting on the words. Swallowing, he began to type out, carefully: _It's okay. Made a mess of things, didn't I?_

The reply came quickly: _No, you didn't._

"Um...okay," Lee told his phone, and shook it a bit to see if a follow-up explanation would fall out. He was still trying to glean what the hell the last message meant, when his phone flashed again:

_It will have to be slow._

He blinked at the message twice, and re-read it twice more to make sure he'd understood it correctly. With slow, deliberate movements, he typed in and sent his reply: _I can do slow._

"I can do slow," Lee whispered aloud, barely aware of the small, silly smile curving his lips.


	7. Epilogue

Richard lightly scraped a fingernail across the bridge of Lee's nose. He smiled when the nose twitched, thick brows furrowed, and a large hand half-heartedly rose to swat blindly around the area of his face. He kept watching as the features calmed, and Lee returned to his previous state of peaceful slumber.

It was 1 am on a Monday, and he really should be sleeping as well. But all of yesterday was still fresh on his mind - Lee's birthday, and while all the surprises Richard had planned went over well, Lee's single request for them to sleep under the half-formed roof of their house had been the highlight of his evening. It only happened because the people they'd contracted to handle the plumbing had sent him a message saying that they had running water now, just to please test the toilet's flush before actually using it for the first time, thank you very much. Lee had gotten excited as only Lee could, the sort of bright-eyed, jump-up-and-down-internally sort of enthusiasm Richard discovered he had a weakness for, and he'd said yes before he'd fully comprehended what he had been agreeing to.

He reached over and tugged the large blanket covering both of their naked forms higher up on Lee's back. Proof of their lovemaking earlier in the night still felt sticky on his thighs (clean-up was going to be a little embarrassing tomorrow), and the cold cement floor they were laying on was far from comfortable. Overhead, the starlit sky was visible through tree branches and the half-finished foundations of a shingled roof. Richard couldn't remember feeling so exposed in his entire life, but the fear he'd normally associate with the sensation was wonderfully, completely absent. 

Everything was already so different from the life he used to lead, in the house he'd shared with Jimmy for over 15 years, with the state-of-the-art security system, the marble-tiled floors, and mahogany-panelled walls. He still had trouble believing he'd been talked into selling it, but he supposed it helped that Graham was oddly supportive of the idea. 

The day Lee first proposed the change had been uneventful apart from the evening's conversation. He should have known something was up when Lee willingly ordered and ate Thai food with him. One moment, he was licking spicy sauce from his fingers, and the next, Lee was looking at him with this vaguely hopeful expression and pre-empted his request with "Don't be mad."

Which had Richard looking suspiciously at his fingers and wondering if what he'd just consumed was laced with something. "About...?"

"I've been thinking about our living conditions-"

"Do you not like it?" Richard quickly asked, worried. Their nights together were mostly spent either in hotel rooms or at Richard's house, but he could tell Lee didn't fancy spending his time there much. Less to do with Richard and more to do with the previous occupant. Richard had proposed having it refurnished and repainted, but Lee hadn't wanted that either, and he'd always harboured this misgiving that the whole thing was going to escalate when he wasn't looking. 

His suspicion grew when Lee hesitated this time - he'd always been quick with his assurances before.

"So, you have that house, right?" Lee tentatively ventured. 

Richard gave him an amused smile. "Yes, I have my house."

"I was thinking you could, maybe, you know...sell it." Richard wasn't sure what expression he was wearing on his face, but whatever it was, it had Lee quickly raising a hand and saying, with wide eyes, "Hear me out first."

"I _like_ that house," Richard said, struggling to keep his tone even, "I went through a very unusual and humiliating settlement just so I could _keep_ that house."

"I know, I know! I'm not suggesting this lightly, so just hear me out first? Please?"

Richard took a deep breath. At his nod, Lee continued:

"I was thinking maybe we can buy a new one. Not with just your money, of course - I've been saving up to lease a fancy apartment over in Greenwood, but I'll put all of that into a new house if you're on board with me. We can split the costs, find something we both like."

Richard fixed his gaze on his plate, his fork idly chasing around a piece of chicken as he mulled over Lee's suggestion. He didn't want to dismiss it out of hand, what with Lee having given it much thought, apparently, but everything he'd just been told held absolutely no attraction to him. 

"Where will I live?" he eventually asked, thinking that perhaps a few more details might give him a bit of insight into what had possessed Lee to even come up with the idea.

"Here."

Richard laughed. One glance at Lee's face, however, wiped all humour from his face. "You're serious?"

Lee nodded with no small amount of enthusiasm.

"You can't even fit yourself in here."

His concern was given a mild shrug and a smile. "We'll get rid of a few things. It'll be fine." When Richard merely continued frowning at him, he said, "It'll be _very_ temporary. You don't even have to live here for long, it's not like you'll sell your house before we have our eyes on a new one already."

Richard made an unhappy noise at the back of his throat. He dropped his gaze back to his plate as he said, "I'll need some time to think about it." 

One of the many things Richard appreciated about Lee was that he was very good at giving him space when he needed it. It was several weeks before he broached the subject again, with a bit more positivity this time, and hinted that he might be willing to consider selling the house if they found one that was just as good, if not better.

"I can look around and narrow down some choices," Lee had replied, when Richard said that he didn't have time to look at real estate himself any time soon. "Ian doesn't have me on anything too taxing this month."

Lee took the house hunting very seriously. It occupied even more of his time than his actual job (which must have vexed Sir Ian to some degree, but Lee had just waved away his concern). Two months later, Lee had excitedly demanded that Richard free up his entire Saturday so he could bring him to the house he'd found, which was "just perfect,""wait 'til you see it," "I can't wait to show you."

His enthusiasm had been infectious. Saturday rolled around, and Lee drove Richard to somewhere close to the outskirts of the adjacent city. Richard wasn't thrilled with the distance, but it wasn't too bad of a drive. The environment was a pleasant mix of greenery and suburban structures, and the location even required them to park their car several meters away from the actual house.

If it could be called that. Lee had brought him to a sorry-looking, two-story structure in dire need of repairs, with tall weeds covering what must have once been a well-kept garden. 

Lee seemed to have entirely misread the reason for his speechlessness. "I couldn't believe it, either. How _perfect_ is this? It's going to be such an amazing house."

"When it grows up?" Richard weakly asked.

Lee rubbed the back of his neck, a small smile playing on his lips. "It doesn't look like much now, but I consulted with two architects, and they both said the foundations are still intact and in great condition. It just needs a bit of rebuilding." He looked at Richard and grinned. "We're two smart, successful men. I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle."

"Lee..." Richard breathed out, trying not to let the slow build-up of panic overwhelm him just yet. He tried to find the words, but just threw his hands up in a helpless gesture and looked to Lee for understanding.

"It's not rocket science," Lee said, laughing. "Have you never worked on a house before?"

" _You_ have?"

"Few times, mostly just helping friends out. Oh, and I built my own tree house when I was ten."

Richard stared at him.

"It'll be fun!" Lee said. Despite Richard's lukewarm reaction, he had to admire the way Lee's excitement hadn't diminished a single inch. "It'll be _ours_. Please. Take all of today to think about it."

It was sort of unfair, the way Lee captured his hand while he said the last bit. Richard felt his resolve crumbling.

He must have said something of a sort-of-maybe-I'll-think-about-it nature, because Lee was smiling brilliantly at him a moment later. That smile that always took Richard's breath away whenever it was aimed at him.

The next hour was spent exploring the area, but all that did was make Richard miss his un-foliaged bed and utterly functional indoor plumbing. Lee was happy enough to relay what he'd learnt of the place - it had been an old bed-and-breakfast, but the owner had sold the land off when it didn't do very well, and the new buyer had neglected the place and merely waited for its resale value to rise before putting it up on the market again. The cost Lee cited was rather lower than Richard expected, which did make it a little tempting. Even with reconstruction costs, they might be able to spend far less than they would on a well-furnished house with a smaller average square area. 

"Can't you just see it, though?" Lee asked, sneaking up behind him and wrapping his arms around his middle. "Shingled roof, romantic balcony on the second floor, big, gorgeous garden with a small pool in-"

"No pools."

"Hm. Okay." He tightened his arms around Richard's waist and hummed against his neck. "But you'll have to tell me why later. Anyway, where was I? Right - big, gorgeous garden with a four-meter trampoline-"

Richard burst out laughing. "No trampolines!"

"I'm going to have to fight you on that one. What else? The exterior walls maybe peach? White? Roof, a strong, gunmetal blue-"

"Red."

"...Blue."

"Red."

"This isn't over."

And so it went. A week later, Richard asked for Graham's advice on the whole thing, and while Graham perpetually wore that disgusted expression he often did whenever the subject involved Lee (Richard was definitely going to have to work on that), he'd been rather surprisingly agreeable to the whole venture. Even going so far as to recommend reliable contractors to handle the roof and plumbing, and offering his own help in case Richard wanted it. (He did. Lee would just have to deal.)

After three weeks, his house was put on the market. He'd thought it would be hard to say goodbye to it, but it had felt oddly liberating. The most difficulty he'd had was trying to negotiate space in Lee's cramped apartment for his things. That had been an adventure on its own, as he'd had his own set of anxieties regarding living in so small a space with someone he cared so much about. His fears that it would drive them apart turned out to be unfounded, and while he sometimes chucked Lee's scattered articles of clothing at his head whenever he encountered one on the floor, or sometimes accidentally botched their individual dry cleaning instructions, the small space provided them with a bubble that had every inch of intimacy he never even knew he wanted with another person.

Richard wouldn't admit to it easily, but he found he quite liked living in Lee's cramped flat. If Lee had asked, he wouldn't have minded staying there indefinitely. 

This house, this _project_ , however, felt entirely too loaded for his liking. It was such a risk, both monetarily and emotionally. On the other hand, he felt that whatever had drawn Lee to that house was the same thing that had drawn him to Richard and, faced with that troubling analogy, he couldn't help but think that, perhaps, the house might be worth a second look after all.

Working on the house had been more fun than he cared to admit. He actually looked forward to heading there straight from work, continuing the flooring they'd started the day before, or laying swatches across the newly-cemented walls to help decide on which color to go with once the primer had dried. They'd mapped out all the rooms already except for one, a fairly wide space that Richard was desperate to turn into a yoga/reading/recreation room, but which Lee was equally desperate to turn into an indoor kennel. (Lee already had his eye on a labrador puppy rescue from the local animal shelter, which Richard refused to visit, because _two pairs_ of puppy dog eyes begging him to relinquish his plans for the one peaceful area in the house that he could enjoy was too much.)

They'd made mistakes, as he'd feared, but the consequences he was afraid would follow never did. Botched panelling was easily replaced. Even the haphazard job they did the first time they patched up a broken wall was torn down by Graham's contractor and summarily fixed - with a lengthy lecture on where they went wrong, and what to do next time. 

It was only then that Richard started breathing easily, thinking back on it. There was a strong support system in place that he never realized he had until that point - Graham made sure there was something to catch him if he ever fell, and Lee made sure he was never alone when he did.

Then Lee's birthday had rolled around, and all Lee wanted was for them to spend their first night in their half-finished house, where their bedroom would be. 

He sighed and slipped an arm around Lee's waist, wincing a little as body parts that shouldn't be sticking together _were_ , but he was feeling far too maudlin to care at the moment. Everything about Lee had scared him shitless at first - and continued to do so, apparently, with the house and all. But as works in progress went, he was slowly starting to see how their relationship was forming a sort of happy-ever-after - or as close to it as he'd ever be able to manage. 

Well. Lee had seen it all along, he supposed. But that was all right - Lee had the patience of a saint, and Richard was enjoying every day he spent trying to catch up to him.

 

\\\\\End///

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** I'm extremely lucky that the talented mdseiran posted[a gorgeous sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/859109) to this! I can't fully describe how happy this makes me. Follow the link to read her work, "Befitting the Crime."**
> 
> * http://www.curiousinkling.com/graphic-t-shirts/he-wears-the-pants.php for the shirt Lee was wearing during the interrupted weekend.  
> * http://www.betterthanpants.com/all-i-want-is-a-beer-and-a-blow-job-is-that-so-wrong-t-shirt.html for the other shirt slogan  
> * I know Richard can operate devices better than I portrayed him in this fic (sorry)  
> * a few elements in this fic were shamelessly borrowed from popular courtroom drama shows, which I appear to have a weakness for (sosorry)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Befitting the Crime](https://archiveofourown.org/works/859109) by [mdseiran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdseiran/pseuds/mdseiran)
  * [Quid Pro Quo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/953149) by [mdseiran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdseiran/pseuds/mdseiran)
  * [Restitution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112127) by [mdseiran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdseiran/pseuds/mdseiran)




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